


Eat Your Heart Out

by kl-eyho (yamswrites)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Horror, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance is just a fucking meme, Lance loves Shakira a lot, Latino Lance (Voltron), M/M, Memes, Sarcasm, Science Fiction, Slow Build, Unreliable Narrator, Zombies, spanglish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 14:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 37,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7805986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamswrites/pseuds/kl-eyho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance anticipated the zombie apocalypse to be more of a high octane summer adventure and less of  the most terrifying and depressing time in his life- complete with walking cannibalistic corpses and the occasional murderer, thief, or two. It's been like this for nearly two years, but finally Lance is on his way to find his family.</p><p>Or at least he was, until he's roped into giving a stranger by the name of Keith a ride. Which was bad enough until you add in the fact that they can't seem to get along and there's thousands upon thousands of miles of zombie infested territory between them and their destination.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors, I'll go back and fix any I find when I'm more coherent and awake. Also, excuse any badly translated Spanish words or incorrect grammar, I'm Latinx but I'm still learning to write in Spanish oops lmao. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr under my voltron side blog [kl-eatyourheartout.](https://kl-eatyourheartout.tumblr.com/) Feel free to come say hi! Also, I'll be tagging anything to do with this fic on tumblr as: vld eat your heart out, klance eat your heart out.

Lance somehow anticipated the zombie apocalypse to be something more… fun. This is how it'd go in his mind. First, he'd encounter a group of survivors, there'd be a hot chick with legs for days and fire in her eyes. And Lance would mow down legions of the undead in a feat of all sorts of heroics- her eyes would shine and they'd kiss, then ride off into the sunset together.

It didn't have to be a girl- it could be a guy, Lance didn't care. He was bisexual, bilingual, and very ready to mingle.

And, of course, in his fantasy Lance would definitely get laid.

But, this was not some high octane summer Hollywood adventure.

Though if it was, he hoped Oscar Isaac would be cast as him instead of Benadryl Cucumberpickle or whatever that dude's name was.

However as previously stated, this wasn't a movie nor was it some amazing whirlwind adventure.

Unsurprisingly to everyone else and as Lance had just begun to realize, the apocalypse was actually quite a bummer.

There weren't very many people left and those who remained were mostly assholes. They also weren't too interested in bumping uglies. Lance had gotten pretty tired of his right hand. But, you know. He made do.

Lance was fairly optimistic that he wouldn't die a virgin.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance had a few rules for the road and he considered himself quite adept at survival. After all, he had made it nearly two years on his own. And he was doing brilliantly, he had even almost gotten laid once. Except, that didn't work out because he got caught by the dude’s dad and, wow, running with your pants pooled around your ankles is hard to do.

Lance still mourned the fact that his dick did not get sucked that day.

Anyways, onto his rules.

Rule 1: go for the head.

You should always go for the head- whether it's zombies, bad people trying to brutally murder you, or animals you're hunting for food. Head= Dead.

Rule 2: avoid malls at all costs.

Nothing says the end of the world like a nice abandoned mall, right? Wrong. Dawn of the Dead is a shining example of why you should not go to the mall. Again, don't go to a mall. Of course, other people will go to it and guess fucking what? People equal zombies. Also, retail is frightening enough without the undead involved. Enough said.

Rule 3: don't pick up hitchhikers and don't hitchhike.

Picking up hitchhikers is the worst idea, Lance should know- he's seen all sorts of horror movies. And usually they went like this: either you picked up a hitchhiker who turned out to be a murderer. Or you were the hitchhiker- got into a car and the sweet old lady who gave you a ride had murder on her mind.

Rule 4: check expiration dates, check food.

Ever had food poisoning during the apocalypse? It is not fun, definitely would not recommend. Puking and running are not easy to do at the same time.

Rule 5: conserve your supplies.

This goes without saying. One needs supplies to survive.

And finally, the most important rule of them all.

Rule 6: don't get bitten.

Getting bitten equals becoming a zombie. So, don't get bitten.

And that was it. All of it was common sense, really.

Of course, luck was not on his side and fate was a frosty motherfucker with a cruel sense of humor- because on the date May 24th 2023, Lance managed to break not just one of his rules. No, no. Lance somehow managed to break the very important rule 3. Which later on in the week, he got fucked over and broke not just one rule within that time frame- but _four_ of his rules.

When Lance said he wanted to get fucked, well, this isn't what he meant. And life sure liked to fuck Lance over. Vigorously, even.

When had his luck gone so sour?

Well, it all started when Lance was born.

No, not really- but in all seriousness, this last year really had sucked.

In the beginning of January, he managed to find a boat. He sailed around a little with a group consisting of a small family. They had met at the docks after Lance brought their daughter back to them after she'd gone missing. The family let him stay, deemed trustworthy and allowed him to travel upon the boat with them. There had been a language barrier between them; Lance spoke only Spanish and English, the family spoke what may have been Romanian, Russian, or something- as well as very few English words. He wasn't too sure what the language was, just knew the family was Eastern European from what little English they did speak.

They had gone to an island, Lance waited on the boat a long time for them to return. After a week and a half, he had to sail away because a group zombies had seen him on the boat and were coming towards the pier. Lance sailed away, knew how because he learned how to sail from the parents of the family.

His heart heavy as the island shrunk in the distance, the rosary about his neck felt cold. Lance couldn't tell if the sting in his eyes was from the salty sea air or the tears streaming down his cheeks.

When he eventually found land again, he made the decision not join any more groups. It always ended badly. Whether it was due to the conflict and strife within the group, or the undead finding their next meal. It wasn't worth trying any more.

He just needed to find his way home- someway, somehow. Maybe, it was a long shot that his family was still in that neighborhood. But, he had to at least try. What else did he have going for him aside from that?

Lance had come to a realization: surviving, well, that's easy.

It's living that's hard.

 

* * *

 

 

Lance was a bit of a reckless driver, always had been. Which was terrible considering the fact that wrecking a car in a zombie apocalypse was quite possibly one of the worst things one could possibly do.

Lance so far has wrecked a grand total of four cars, at least post-apocalypse tally wise.

The first two times were purely an accident. The first time- there was a zombie in the middle of the road, Lance swerved to avoid it and then ended up in a ditch. That day really sucked, considering he had to basically sprint to the forest and climb up a tree to avoid a group of four zombies on his tail.

The second time, he had hit a zombie. Which subsequently damaged his car and Lance had to abandon it due to the trapped zombie beneath the vehicle.

The third occurrence admittedly was his fault, he was trying to Tokyo Drift and fucked up big time.

Last but not least, for the grand finale- Lance was trying to race with another survivor and then fucked his car up because he hit what remained of an abandoned car.

Brilliant.

And so, due to those past incidents and a fear of a loud car noises alerting any zombies nearby of his presence- Lance was driving at a snail's pace.

So far, so good.

Today he was going to drive around to see if he could find anywhere that might be worth making a run for supplies to.

In the aftermath of the apocalypse, many people tried to recreate societies. They moved in forests, deserted towns, carved out a place for themselves in the cities. However, eventually, all things came to an end. Lance found all sorts of supplies, was even lucky enough to find couple of survival guides. One of which detailed which plants to eat and not to eat.

Sometimes, he found personal items of the people who once lived in those places. The worst were looking at the photographs. Looking at all the people there and knowing that every single smiling face in it was quite possibly dead or worse.

Lance tried not to dwell on it. He felt if he did dwell on sad matters such as those, well- he didn't like to think about that.

He just had to keep swimming.

 

* * *

 

Today, it was a sunny day with a chance of getting some food to eat if Lance wasn't eaten first.

Somehow, Lance anticipated this going much worse.

He had snuck into the remnants of a survivor's camp. Lance had rushed to the site yesterday upon hearing the screams, but arrived much too late. He had closed his eyes, felt pitiful for not being able to do something, anything.

Now, Lance clutched his rosary, said a quick prayer in Spanish. He prayed that the man died quickly and did not suffer, that his soul was at peace. The prayer now completed, Lance glanced off to side, saw only one walker and- oh, fuck. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep from losing what little was left remaining in his stomach.

He slipped his backpack on, gripped his wooden baseball bat tight.

Go time.

Lance darted away from the tree he had been hiding behind, sprinted towards the campsite. He rushed to it, his breath harsh in the sweltering heat of this May morning. He managed to sneak up on the first zombie, got his bat at the ready and swung as hard as he possibly could.

The zombie fell to the floor after a couple of swings, then it turned and reached towards Lance with outstretched arms. Lance wasted no time as he brought the bat down on it's face in arc. He struck it several times- until it's moans went quiet, the only sound in the air were his grunts and the squelch of his bat hitting what was once it's face, and it finally went still. After Lance saw the danger had passed, he quickly began to wipe any of it's putrid blood off of his face.

He went over to the tent, quiet. He tapped it with his bat, then waited for the telltale lunge and snarl. Yet, nothing happened. He tried again, waited. Then, deemed it safe and opened the flap. There wasn't much inside, unfortunately. He did however find a sleeping bag, two cans of food, a nice sized knife, and what looked like a map. All nice things, of course. Quality over quantity.

He made quick work of stuffing what he could in his backpack, opting to roll the sleeping bag up and attach it to his bag. Once Lance completed that task, he grabbed his baseball bat and went on his merry way.

That night surprisingly turned out to be a good one. Lance curled up in the front seat of his car, used the sleeping bag as a blanket, his belly full for the first time in weeks. He slept good that night- dreamless, restful sleep. No zombies disturbed the wire can line he had set up around the car. It was a peaceful night.

 

* * *

 

 

His morning- by comparison- was anything but peaceful.

It sucked ass.

Lance awoke to the sound of a bang on the passenger's side of his car. He turned his attention to the side and found his window completely shattered along with a figure picking the car door lock-

He didn't even think, just grabbed their hand and pulled it towards him. The person’s lower face was covered in a dark red fabric, not that it helped them much when their face was slammed into the side of his car, the momentum in Lance’s tug caught them off guard.

Lance froze, unsure of what to do next-

And that hesitation cost him.

Lance’s grip had slackened in his moment of indecision and the person took full advantage of that, twisted their hand out of his hold quickly. They opened the car door and clambered in. Before Lance could even open his mouth to protest, there was a blade pointed at his throat.

“Drive,” The person snapped at him, their eyes dark and their voice rough with anger.

“Fuck you,” Lance hissed as he started the car.

And he drove off.

This was not how he anticipated spending his day.

The person was quiet for the entire ride, they eventually moved the blade away but still watched Lance with distrustful eyes. They had strange eyes that appeared to be an almost violet hue.

“So, Sub-Zero? What's your plan? What are you going to do? Make me pull over, murder me, and then take my car?” Lance inquired, glanced to his passenger.

“Shut up and drive,” They muttered.

“Oh, I love that song,” Lance replied, lips quirked into a smirk. He could all but feel their annoyance as it hung heavy in the tense atmosphere, like a storm cloud over their heads.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.”

Then, Lance saw them move an axe from the floor onto their lap. Well, that explained his busted window. And, well, this was looking more and more like a horror movie. Except, the stranger wasn't a sweet old lady, but they clearly still had murder on their mind.

“You know, you should wear your seat belt. It'd be a real shame if we got into a car accident and you got hurt by like flying out the window, yeah? As my _Abuelita_ would say, ' _¡Ay, qué pena, qué lástima_ -”

There was a blade at his throat again.

Lance laughed. “Easy there, tough guy- or gal... Tough person?”

His companion glared, their gloved hand moved to buckle their seat belt while they kept the blade at Lance’s throat and only moved it after Lance fell quiet.

Around one in the afternoon, the stranger made Lance pull over and get out of the car. In their hands was the red axe that had previously been on their lap, and they held it in such a way that suggested that they were quite comfortable with using it, as if it was an extension of themselves.

Lance, of course, did what any reasonable person would.

He whipped around and decked them in the fucking face. And, wow, the crunch their nose made beneath his knuckles was oddly satisfying.

Pleased that he caught them off guard, Lance all but skipped back to his car. He felt pretty good. One could even say that Lance was walking on sunshine.

Speaking of sunshine, Lance was just about to drive off into the sunset (in spite of the fact that was actually about one in the afternoon) when he realized a crucial bit of information.

He did not have his car keys.

Lance sighed and looked off to the side to see the stranger pull down the fabric fitted about the lower half their face with a cringe as they wiped at the blood spewing from their nose.

Their features were soft, skin pale, their strange colored eyes darkened and lips curled into a scowl when they looked at Lance. Their hood had been knocked down when they hit the floor and their ink black hair was tousled-

Lance would've laughed at the fact that they had a fucking mullet if not for the homicidal expression upon their face.

He wished he had learned how to hotwire a car or something so he could've just driven off by now.

Lance grabbed his baseball bat and got out of the car. “I don't suppose you'll just give me the car keys- um, angry axe wielding maniac?”

“Who the fuck are you calling an axe wielding maniac?”

“You. The person with an axe, who put a blade up to my throat and basically fucking kidnapped me!” Lance snapped.

“Well, I couldn't just ask for a ride!”

“Oh my god, are you kidding me? Yeah, you could've! I'm not a dick! But, you were!”

“You punched me in the face!”

“After you made me fear for my fucking life!” Lance shouted, clearly not giving a thought to the fact that any nearby undead could hear him. “Nice people who aren't dicks introduce themselves and ask for a ride!”

“What? Okay, _fine_. I'm Keith, give me a ride,” The stranger- no, Keith said.

Lance snorted. “Fat chance, you're still a dick,” He replied. “Besides, you didn't say the magic word.”

“What?”

“Please, say please.”

Keith practically growled at that. “Please, give me a damn ride.”

“Nope. Give me my car keys back.”

“Are you going to give me a ride?” Keith asked.

“No,” Lance answered.

Keith narrowed his eyes. “Then, no. I'm not giving you the keys back.”

Lance frowned. “Why do you need a ride? Can't you fucking drive? Why haven't you driven off?” He paused, a smug expression on his face, “Unless, you don't know how to drive or something,” He commented.

Keith fell quiet, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and his jaw clenched.

Lance burst into laughter, doubled over with it. “Are you serious? Two years of zombie apocalypse and you never learned how to drive? _¡Ay-ay-ay!_ Dude-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Keith bellowed.

All around them the shout had disrupted the still air, the birds screamed and took flight, and the moaning of walkers came forth.

The undead were here.

And they sounded hungry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [my blog.](https://kl-eatyourheartout.tumblr.com/) I'm tagging anything to do with this fic on tumblr under: 'vld eat your heart out' as well as 'klance eat your heart out'. 
> 
> Thanks for the feedback so far! Y'all are great. Feel free to leave a comment, kudos, and feel free to say hi to me on my blog. I don't bite! I'm p new to this fandom and I'd love to make a few friends. c:

From all around Keith and Lance came the sounds of the undead. Simply put, they were surrounded on all sides.

“Shit- give me the car keys now!” Lance hissed.

“Will you take me with you?” Keith asked.

“No!” Lance shouted.

The first of the walkers came shambling out of the treeline, arms outstretched, and milky eyes alight with some sick semblance of what may have been joy.

“Give me the keys!” Lance screamed.

“Take me with you or-”

“Or what?”

“We both fucking die right here!” Keith replied.

“Fuck! Okay, you can come with me!” Lance groaned.

He made a dash to the driver's side while Keith sprinted towards the passenger's side. Once inside, Keith handed him the keys. Lance put them in the ignition and had just started the car when the walkers made their way towards the vehicle. Lance floored it, wasn't sure how fast he was going, and didn't give a shit because he just wanted to get out of there.

“Dude, ‘take me with you or we both fucking die right here’. What kind of psychotic bullshit is that-”

“Do not call me a psycho, you fuckin’ jerk!” Keith snapped, cut his eyes at Lance.

“Oh- shit, sorry.”

It grew quiet, Keith had a deep scowl upon his face before he turned his gaze to outside the window.

“It's fine,” Keith grumbled, folded his arms over his chest.

“Keith’s your name, right? I'm Lance,” Lance said, a smirk at his lips.

Keith didn't even look to Lance at all, he just merely made a little grunt of acknowledgement and went back to staring out the window like he was in a some emo music video.

Wow.

This was just so brilliant.

The idea of slamming his face upon the nearest object and just sighing heavily— admittedly became ever so appealing to Lance. He was so stressed out. This really sucked. And not in a good way.

“So... if you didn't know how to drive, then why were you going to leave me on the side of the road?” Lance inquired, tried to break the silence.

“I could've learned how to drive,” Keith protested.

“In, like, five minutes? That sounds fake, but okay,” Lance muttered.

“Whatever. Just keep driving.”

“Where am I supposed be taking you to, anyways?”

Keith paused, looked to Lance with narrowed eyes. He looked suspicious of what Lance had asked him. Of course, that just pissed Lance off more.

“Don't look at me like that! Hello? If I'm taking you there, I need to know where I'm going,” Lance snapped.

“It's, like, on the east coast. I just need to hitch a ride until the midwest.”

Lance glanced to Keith, arched an eyebrow.

“So… you're going to _walk_ all the way from the midwest to the east coast?” Lance asked, his enunciation slow.

“Yeah. I mean, I could just learn how to drive a car. Or find a bike or something,” Keith said.

“You're literally going to ride a bike halfway across the country?” Lance asked, he looked utterly bewildered.

“Yeah, I just said that.”

That was the most ridiculous thing Lance had heard and he had heard some ridiculous shit in his life. Like, the time this one weird ass kid in his neighborhood tried to get the hottest girl in middle school to dance with him during 8th grade prom but he was too scared to do it, so he just photoshopped pictures of them together but they were so clearly edited.

Or the time his _Abuelo_ got a cat even though he was almost life threateningly allergic to them.

So, yeah- ridiculous. But, damn, he didn't think he'd ever hear of someone trying to walk halfway across a country. That one stole the cake.

“Okay. Um, well, you sound very confident in yourself.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “What?” He asked, suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Lance replied, his eyes wide with an incredulous expression as he mouthed the word, “wow,” to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith realized that out of all the many people he could have hitched a ride with, Lance was quite possibly the worst. He briefly wondered how all of his life choices brought him to this very moment. Lance had one hand one wheel, the other was currently moving around in crazed gestures as he belted out some song Keith had never heard in his life.

Keith, quite frankly, feared for his life.

He was going to be so pissed if they crashed.

Thankfully, Lance finished his song and put both hands on the wheel.

Of course, Lance went on to sing another song.

“-Ladies up in here, tonight. No fighting.”

“Lance, please stop,” Keith groaned.

“We got the refugees up in here. No fighting, no fight-”

“Lance-”

“No fighting.”

Keith sighed. “Please, dude. Stop.”

It grew quiet. Lance glanced to Keith. “Alright. I’ll stop,” He promised.

“Thank you.”

Lance grinned, then took a deep breath.

“SHAKIRA, SHAKIRA!” He shrieked.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was setting in a blood red sky when Lance had parked his car around dusk and went about putting up the can line around the trees surrounding the vehicle.

Lance was curled up against the car door, head leaning against the window as he watched the last of the sunlight faded away and all that remained was nothing more than darkness.

Perhaps it was the gloom of night that returned him to these equally dark thoughts but Lance often wondered why the apocalypse had happened. If it was some weird sort of pathogen birthed by mad scientists in secretive labs or the wrath of an angry God, who sought to cleanse the sinners of the earth.

Whatever the reason, he wondered why the fuck he ended up with such a weirdo to keep him company within these dark times.

Also, he talked in his sleep. Like, a lot. Too much, if you asked Lance. Most of it was gibberish he had no comprehension of. Sometimes it was a name or two. Either way, Lance just wanted his beauty rest. He was looking to get lucky, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

On Day Three of this fucked road trip with Keith, it was surprisingly not a sunny day.

It was cloudy all morning and by afternoon the rain decided to make it's presence known. How you ask?

Simple. Firstly, by coming down in such a large downpour. Almost if it was monsoon season. Except, they didn't get monsoons in this country. It felt like one, however. Then, the rain was accompanied by the boom of thunder overhead and flashes of lightning that sliced through the darkened clouds.

The universe adored to showcase its favorite pastime of fucking Lance and his plans up.

Oh, well. It wasn't a total loss. Lance rather liked the rain.

“That's lot of rain,” Keith commented.

“No shit, Captain Obvious,” Lance grumbled.

Keith snorted. “You know, if you're going to be an asshole to me, you could at least do it right.”

“Huh?”

“It's Catherine Obvious.”

Lance couldn't help but sputter his next few words as a laugh escaped him. “Oh, man. Are you fucking serious?”

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?”

“It's Captain Obvious! Who would Catherine even be?”

Keith paused, glanced at Lance with an owlish look to his violet eyes. “Well… she could be a captain,” He replied.

Lance quickly burst into laughter again, had to stop the car. He clutched at his sides, eyes shut and watering as he laughed to the point of hysterics.

“I don't see how this is so funny,” Keith muttered, his eyebrows furrowed as a baffled expression settled over his face.

“Dude! Catherine Obvious!”

“Yeah, what about that?”

“CATHERINE!”

Keith rolled his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and glanced out the window to watch the rain fall.

“You done?” He asked, after Lance finally fell quiet.

Lance laughed again.

“I guess not. Anyways, there's a mall up ahead. I'd say maybe a mile or two. We could make a supply run there,” Keith suggested, turned his gaze back over to Lance’s.

That killed Lance’s laughter.

In fact, Lance looked horrified.

“The mall?”

Keith arched an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah?”

“Like a shopping center? Stores? Stores, everywhere?”

“...That would be a mall, I guess.”

Oh, fuck no. Lance had seen Dawn of the Dead, played Dead Rising, and knew all about why it was quite possibly the worst idea to go to the fucking mall of all places. Was Keith fucking crazy? Obviously, he had to be.

It was time for Lance to put his foot down.

“The mall?”

Keith sighed. “Yes. Do you know what a mall is or not? You're acting like you've literally never even heard of the word,” He muttered.

Lance fixed him with a glare as he brought the car to a stop.

“Keith, you fucking amateur. How have you been able to survive for so long? You're making rookie mistakes!” Lance exlaimed.

“What are you going on about? I've been doing just fine, thank you,” Keith all but snarled.

“Listen, Billy Ray Cyrus. I don't know if you've ever seen movies or played games in the whole fucking zombie genre and nor do I give a shit if you have, but even an axe wielding maniac like you has to know that going to a mall is, like, literally the stupidest idea,” Lance rambled, gestured wildly with his hands in order to illustrate his point.

Keith looked at Lance as if he had grown a second head and one with a much more annoying personality at that.

“I'm guessing you want to starve? Not a lot of options for food around here in case you haven't noticed,” Keith snapped.

“Yeah, but in case you haven't noticed, dude- I don't want to become food,” Lance retorted.

Keith shook his head, didn't look to Lance but he could tell Keith was disappointed. But, Lance didn't care. He wasn't trying to impress the guy who more or less kidnapped him a knife point because he didn't know how to fucking ask for a ride.

But, in the end- his grumbling stomach won over logic and Lance found himself breaking rule number 2. (AKA: Rule 2: avoid malls at all costs.)

This day was sweltering, the sun beat down upon them mercilessly, and the sky was clear aside from the occasional little wisp of cloud that lay scattered across the blue horizon.

Keith and Lance had left the car a little ways away from the mall and hid it from plain view because Lance preferred not to have find their only get away gone if they had the undead hot on their heels.

Speaking of hot, the air was ridiculously humid. Lance was sweating, and he hated it. Sweating is so gross. The concrete of the parking lot felt hot enough to make an omelet.

 _“Coño_ , it's so fucking hot,” Lance groaned under his breath as he wiped at his brow.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you be any louder?” Keith sighed.

“Yeah, I definitely could.”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, another sigh escaped his lips. “You are such a dick.”

Lance arched an eyebrow. “Now, which one of us kidnapped the other at knife point?” He questioned with a sardonic smile on his lips, a tilt to his head, one hand on his hip while the other clutched his bloodstained baseball bat.

“UGH! Okay, okay. It was a shit thing to do and I can't really justify it but- fuck! Stop throwing it in my face. Okay? I am sorry. I didn't know what kind of person you were and it was really shitty of me and I'm sorry,” Keith said, voice raised slightly with the frustration that curled up within him like a tight heat along with shame, the two twisting up in his insides.

Whatever Lance was about to say became drowned by the sound of a gunshot as it exploded in the once still air.

Time began to move slow like the trickle of molasses, and Lance’s ears rung. All he had a mere split second to glance to the side, eyes wide with incomprehension and horror as a sharp, blinding pain exploded in his abdomen. He looked to Keith, who looked just as terrified, jaw slack and those violet eyes of his as wide as saucers, his gloved hand reached towards Lance, then Keith glanced behind himself and suddenly he was screaming.

And Lance’s vision grew dark, the last thing he saw was the asphalt of the parking lot as it rushed up to meet him. It was pitch black, the only things that filled the gloom was snarling of the dead and Keith’s screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone gets upset, need I remind u this is only ch.2 and there's no major character death warning therefore there won't be any major character death. But there is a hurt/comfort tag B))


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the feedback so far, y'all are great!
> 
> I'm tagging anything related to this fic on tumblr as: vld eat your heart out, klance eat your heart out.

It was dark when Lance finally woke up and, wow, did he feel like shit. Seriously, it felt like an elephant used him as a cushion for it's giant, wrinkly ass. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, and they were squinted as they tried to see in the gloom of the early morning.

He was in the car. Immediately, he scrabbled to find the wound, the source of his earlier throbbing pain. He moved his jacket out of the way and pulled his shirt up, his breath hitched in horrified anticipation. Lance steeled his nerves in order to not pass out the moment he saw the blood and the wound-

Nothing. There was nothing there at all, save for the unmarred, smooth, dark skin of his stomach.

A dream, then. Nothing more.

Lance pulled his shirt down, glanced to the passenger’s seat and found Keith curled up in the seat. His eyes were open, a soft blanket wrapped tight around him.

“The mall. Are… are we going today?” Lance asked, his voice sounded ever so exhausted.

“Yeah. Why?” Keith questioned, bewildered.

It was just a dream, Lance thought. Nothing more. Lance wasn’t sure he believed in premonitions or anything of that sort. Yet, there was a nagging sense within him that felt something horrendous would happen the minute they strayed near the mall.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m hoping we could find one of Shakira’s CDs, you know?” Lance said, tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Keith looked to Lance with an exasperated expression. “I hope not,” He said.

 

* * *

 

 

Around two in the afternoon, they decided to make their run to the mall. There was a frayed sign, the parking lot filled with broken down and abandoned cars, the sky was cloudy, and there wasn’t a zombie in sight.

The thing about the dead was that you should be more worried about the ones you can’t see, versus the ones you can. At any moment, there could be one just around the corner, beneath a car, hidden in the overgrown grasses, or even one sneaking up behind you- just awaiting the moment it could lunge and sink it’s rotten teeth within your flesh.

To draw them out, Lance was singing.

“She’s into superstitions, black cats and voodoo dolls! I feel a premonition, that girl’s gonna make me fall-”

“Do you want every biter within a 5 mile radius to hear you?” Keith hissed, looked very much like Lance’s Abuelo’s little cat every time he went near her. For some unknown reason, that cat had a pure and unfounded hatred of him. Well, Lance didn’t care. Gloria the Cat was totally an asshole, anyways.

Just then, a pack of four zombies came crawling out from under a few cars. They struggled to their feet, their arms outstretched, and voices raspy as they snarled and moaned in unison.

Keith wasted no time, rushed at the first- kicked it in the face as tried to rise. Then, he brought his axe down in an arc and buried it within the creature’s skull. Lance sighed, dashed towards the nearest zombie as it reached for Keith as he tried to pull his axe free of the other corpse’s head- Lance swung and smashed the thing’s skull in.

He turned around, managed to avoid the snap of a third zombie’s teeth and Keith quickly dispatched it with another brandish of his axe. Keith too got rid of the very last one as he swiftly grasped his knife from its sheath and dispatched the zombie as he thrust the blade into its head.

Lance looked to Keith, opened his mouth to make a remark-

“No. No singing, no jokes. I'm so done,” Keith grumbled.

“Hi, I'm so done. I'm Lance.”

Keith said nothing, just shook his head and gave a loud exhale before he walked off.

“Hey! Keith- c’mon, dude. You gotta admit that was funny!” Lance exclaimed.

After realizing that Keith wasn’t going back that way, Lance walked after Keith but soon had to pick up his pace in order to keep up with him. Keith, of course, ignored him.

“Dude!”

Ignored.

“Dude.”

Ignored.

“How are we supposed to even get into the mall?” Lance asked, only a few steps behind Keith now.

And now, Lance had grown more irritated.

“Um, hello?”

Keith glanced over his shoulder, but quickly looked back away.

That’s how it was going to be, then? Fine. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

“Fine, be a dick. I’m out. Have fun getting eaten, you fucker,” Lance snapped and promptly walked away.

Who needed Keith anyways? He was surly and a dick when he wasn’t too busy being quiet like some emo loser who listens to My Chemical Romance. Keith probably listened to them a lot. He probably cried when the band broke up too, fucking nerd.

Also, his hair sucked. Like a mullet, really? Keith, the 80s called and they wanted their fucking hair back.

“Wait, I need a ride-”

Lance turned quickly to see Keith, there was a frown at his lips and he looked… sad, almost. Like, a lost puppy or something. Those violet eyes of his were so soft, and he looked upset.

“Screw you. You’ve been nothing but a dick to me - why would I help you?”

Keith hesitated. “I-”

Whatever Keith had been about to say was drowned out by the moans, snarls, raspy voices, and footfalls of the dead.

It was not one, nor two, three, or even four.

Ice flooded Lance’s veins as he took in the road, or rather, where it had once been. In it’s place were a sea of the undead, too numerous to count. There was no way to fight all of them, it was about as futile as trying to count all the stars in the sky.

The dead were as they had been in life, social creatures. Or at least, that’s what Lance had surmised because they tended to come in groups. Perhaps, some little spark remained after reanimation- some instinct that drove them together. It was rare to see a lone zombie.

But, this group- herd, even, easily could fill a football stadium.

Keith looked to Lance, horror as clear as day within his eyes. He met Lance’s gaze, his lips trembled as he whispered one word- and then he took off towards the mall’s entrance, was gone so fast Lance could hardly believe it.

Lance heard a snarl behind him, turned and saw what looked like a small portion of the herd as it broke off and were headed straight towards him. They had caught sight of him. Suddenly, the baseball bat in Lance’s hands felt very much akin to nothing more than a toothpick.

Ah, yes. Keith had just given him some sound advice. And while Lance rarely heeded the advice of dicks, this time he’d make an exception.

_"Run."_

And Lance did just that.

 

* * *

 

 

When Lance was upset or got incredibly low, he liked to think about nice things he enjoyed in the past. Now, we’re not talking a wee bit sad- no, we’re talking apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur getting super low and then going down, down in an earlier round kind of emo mood.

But, summoning his happy place of sandy beaches, scantily clad men, and muscular women who could snap him in half like the twig he was-

Wait.

What was he thinking about?

Oh, yes. He couldn’t go to his happy place right now because he was fucking running for his life from a bunch of zombies.

Fun.

He had no idea where Keith was but he would very much appreciate his mullet appearing to light the way and guide him to safety.

That didn’t happen of course.

Lance couldn’t remember the last time he had run so much. His legs burned, his lungs ached, and with every step he took, it felt like it'd be his last.

A small voice in his head whispered that he'd probably die here, he'd trip, and become nothing more than a meal for these zombies. Lance made the executive decision to ignore all horrible thoughts that concerned his demise and concentrated on running and trying to shake of the zombies on his heels.

He couldn't help but feel that this whole fiasco would have gone a hell of a lot better if he had Heelys.

Finally, as if the Big Guy in the Sky had looked down upon Lance and said, “yikes, poor fucker.” Lance managed to lose outrun most of the walkers and took a risk by promptly tossing his own flat ass through a hole in one of the sections in the mall’s glass wall.

In hindsight, he probably should have at least tried to see if the doors at the entrance were unlocked because jumping through a broken glass wall was about as fun as it sounded. Aka, not very fun. Also, lots of- you guessed it- glass, everywhere.

It sucked.

Lance laid upon the ground, tried to catch his breath. His shoulder burned. A quick glance to the right and the sight of blood seeping through his t-shirt was enough to tell him he had gotten cut as he fell through.

He carefully got up and went about looking for his bat. He found it lying not too far from him, a couple of feet to the left and right by a dead potted plant.

Now was not the time to be stupid. Lance first grabbed his baseball bat and then he made sure that there wasn’t a zombie waiting around the corner looking to eat him.

Luckily, there weren’t any.

The mall remarkably still had a few functioning lights, perhaps due to a generator or two. Or something like that, the hell if Lance knew. It could be fairy magic for all he knew, honestly. He was just grateful to have a way to see.

It was warm in here and the sunlight flittered very easily through the glass ceiling.

Huh. A thought had just occurred to Lance. Why did malls always have so much glass everything? It was kinda ridiculous. Plus, it must have been totally shitty to have to constantly just clean and clean. Ugh.

Oh, shit.

Keith.

He had a head start but what if the zombies had caught up to him? What if while Lance was musing about stupid shit like why malls had so many glass windows, Keith was outside literally being torn limb from limb only to be devoured?

Oh, fuck.

Admittedly, Lance really didn’t like him all that much but he also really didn't want to see Keith dead- especially to see him die in such a horrible, brutal way.

It was go time, and this here was Lance’s time to be a hero. And maybe, if he saved Keith, he'd be so grateful that he'd sleep with Lance. Keith wasn't bad-looking. Sure, his haircut was stupid and he was lowkey kind of a dick, but Lance was running out of options in terms of getting laid. The apocalypse is really not the time to be having such high standards.

And so, Lance made his way around the mall. He did a little sweep on the first floor, specifically by a Starbucks. He was careful to avoid being seen by any of the zombies lingering around the outside cafe area. The cut he sustained on his shoulder throbbed but he ignored it in favor of carefully creeping around the mall.

Surprisingly, this was actually going well.

If this was a video game he’d totally be getting XP for the stealth he was doing.

Oh, shit there was a zombie stumbling around by the fountain.

Stealth time.

Lance quietly snuck up behind it, his bat at the ready.

Batter up.

Crack!

It fell to floor with the first hit and Lance dispatched it with a few more, until the only sound that filled the air was his pants and grunts of exertion as well as the squelch his bat as it continued to hit the ruin of the creature’s head.

Achievement unlocked!

Lance went over to the fountain, surprised to find it clean. He stepped into it, cleaned his hands and then his face of any grime, blood, and whatever else had gotten on him.

Oh, how he missed his skin care routine.

He really missed using face masks, moisturizing, exfoliating.

But, he missed showers most of all.

Oh, man. He’d kill for a nice, hot shower.

And then food. He missed his family’s cooking. He missed his Abuelo’s yellow rice with chicken and all sorts of vegetables- carrots, peas, broccoli. He missed _arroz con leche, plátanos maduros fritos, arroz con frijoles, pastelitos de guayaba_ , _arroz imperial,_  and _arepas._

Fuck, now he was hungry.

This was, like, really fucking depressing.

Lance sighed, put his head under one of the little streams of water that the fountain spewed out and washed his hair free of blood, dirt, and possible rotting zombie bits.

Another thing he really missed- shampoo and conditioner. Especially the kind that was like minty and felt all cool and refreshing.

Dammit, he missed toothpaste the most.

Keith.

He was supposed to be saving Keith instead of thinking about toothpaste.

Wow, Lance was such a mess.

 

* * *

 

 

This was very bad.

Keith was, well, trapped.

He was in the women’s clothing department, hidden in a dressing room as he silently hoped the biters banging on the door would soon lose interest. Keith had a hand clamped over his mouth, trembled as his back was pressed against the cool surface of the mirror behind him.

The possibility that he might die here was becoming readily apparent.

Please, Keith thought. Please, I know I've done wrong but let me live.

As if in answer to Keith’s thoughts, the door creaked and it groaned, came down with a loud crash and Keith could only press himself closer against the mirror and attempt to hold back his screams.

Before him were the decaying faces of biters, their arms outstretched, and their eyes alight with hunger.

Keith decided if this was how he had to go, then it wouldn't be like this- cowering and crying in a corner. He grasped his axe and swung into the skull of the nearest biter. He tried to pull it out only to realize the axe had gotten stuck within the dressing room’s wall.

Shit.

Keith unsheathed his knife as another biter pulled him in, its putrid breath inches away from his exposed wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun


	4. Chapter 4

Lance wandered around the mall for what may have been another hour and yet there was still no sign of Keith. Truthfully, he was starting to get worried.

What if Keith hadn’t made it?

He didn’t like him, barely knew him, really- but he also did not want to happen upon his mutilated corpse.

Aside from the first zombie he had happened upon and another two, the mall was relatively empty. Huh. Maybe the mall rule wasn’t entirely bad. He did get to wash up a little bit.

Lance really wanted a shower though. He smelled absolutely awful. It was like being 14 without deodorant all over again. Speaking of deodorant, maybe he’d happened upon some Dove, Secret, or Old Spice. Lance didn’t care about whether it was “Girl’s deodorant” or what, because applying genders to something such as deodorant was really stupid and Lance just wanted to smell nice.

But, yeah. Saving Keith. He was supposed to be finding Keith and saving him- heroic shit, you know?

Yes, it was time for him to be a hero-

Lance tripped over his own feet and fell on his ass.

 

* * *

 

It took him about two hours to find Keith.

Lance was not very good at finding things. However, he excelled at losing them. It’s been so many years- high school, a bit of college, and a zombie apocalypse happened and yet… Lance never found his Tamagotchi that his cousin had given him around elementary school. Was that thing old as balls? Yes. But, he was still upset he never found it.

His Abuelita probably tossed it out while she was cleaning out the landfill that was his room.

Lance’s thoughts were interrupted by a zombie promptly stumbling towards him. Lance yawned, got his bat at the ready and swung. It took about a few more hits before the damn thing finally fucking died.

Zombies could be such inconsiderate assholes sometimes. Bad enough they try to eat you and your loved ones, but then they don’t die easily.

Fucking assholes.

Lance went on his merry way.

Keith was either not okay or he was a world class champion at hide-and-seek.

Either way, Lance was getting tired. He could really go for a nap now, ya feel? Unfortunately, naptime was hard to come by. Maybe, he could find Keith and they could hole up in one of the stores, pull down the security shutters and sleep behind the registers or in the backroom or something.

Lance crept quietly through the malls, a little astounded at how spooky it was to be in a place that was so quiet and desolate. In it’s day, the mall once was crawling with hundreds of people- seen first dates, the forming and breaking of friendships, first kisses, families spending time with one another, filled with laughter and love.

But, it was all over now.

 

* * *

 

Lance found Keith as he stumbled out the dressing rooms of a women’s clothing store, absolutely soaked in blood from head to toe. Only his eyes had been saved from the carnage, and they burned, stood out from the crimson that drenched his entire frame.

Keith opened his mouth to speak when a rasp suddenly interrupted him. He looked to Lance and said nothing as he dashed towards the store pickup area. A zombie came sauntering out, thoroughly cutting off the smart remark Lance had been about to make.

It grasped at him and it’s teeth clanked together in a crunching motion, snarled excitedly all the while. Lance managed to wiggle out of it’s grasp, kicked as it’s legs and after it went down, he brought his bat down on it’s face- smashed over, and over, and over again-

“It’s dead,” Keith said, his voice loud enough that Lance could hear it over the blood whooshing in his ear drums.

Yeah, it was.

In and out. Lance took deep breaths, tried to calm down even as his hands shook. Fuck, he was so tired of this.

“Lance. It’s over.”

Yeah, it was.

Everything was all over.

Lance ignored the burn of tears in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Night fell, the store would’ve been cloaked in complete darkness if not from the dim lighting provided by the few candles placed around the counters, shelves, and various other surfaces. The security shutters were pulled down and were thankfully thick enough that it was near impossible to look through.

Keith walked around the store, grabbed a backpack and got a few shirts and a couple pairs of pants. The only underwear present was of the lingerie variety and Keith wasn’t sure his ass would actually fit in any of it. Most of the underwear ran quite small. And, no, he would not wear a thong. Not that there was anything wrong with it, he just didn’t feel like wearing something that was essentially a wedgie.

Finally, Keith went over to the coats. He’d need something for when fall and winter came. Freezing to death didn’t seem rather fun.

“Damn, I look good,” Lance said as he eyed his reflection in the mirror.

He wore a skirt that fell rather high above his knees, short enough to classified as a mini skirt but was shying a inch or two that would’ve made it a microskirt.

“You don’t got the ass to wear that skirt,” Keith said, a snort escaped him when met with Lance’s look of outrage.

“I have an ass.”

“Barely.”

“Why are you looking at my ass anyways?”

“It’s kinda hard not to,” Keith said, his cheeks flushed.

Lance wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Keith shook his head. By now, he appeared utterly flustered. “No, no, no. It’s just, like, the skirt is really short.”

“I know. You can’t take your eyes off of it.”

“I can too.”

Lance arched an eyebrow.

Keith averted his eyes.

“Why are you wearing a skirt anyways?” He muttered.

Lance didn’t have much of an ass, but he did have legs for days. Holy fuck.

“I wanted to try it on. Never had the chance to before.”

Keith frowned. “Why not?”

“My dad would’ve killed me. He’s one of those ‘macho manly man types’ or whatever, you know?” Lance said. He stood up straight, put his finger over his mouth as if to mimic a mustache and proceeded to speak in a lower voice- presumably in an impression of his father, “ _¡Qué mierda! Qué coño haces?_ Lance! You’re acting like such a- well, um, it’s an ugly word. It's basically, like, the f-word but in Spanish.”

“F-word? You say fuck all the time.”

“No, no. The other f-word, dude. It’s a slur against gay people.”

“Huh? Oh. Yikes,” Keith muttered, a grimace at his lips. “That’s not cool.”

Lance nodded, then averted his eyes.

A silence fell between them, awkward and tense. Lance realized that was probably a little weird to share. His and Keith’s friendship level was at 0 when that bit of information should’ve been unlocked at friendship level 22 if not 23 in the very least.

“I gotta say, skirts are kinda overrated. It looks cute but my thighs are like sticking together, damn-”

_Bang!_

Keith and Lance jumped, both startled. Lance opened his mouth to make a response but Keith raised his index finger to his lips and shook his head. And not a moment later came the moan of a zombie as it’s hands beat upon the shutters.

Lance sighed, “I just wanted to have a musical montage.”

 

* * *

 

By morning, a group of walkers had accumulated at the front of the store, banging on the shutters. It was hard to get a good estimate but based upon the groans alone there was about four.

It gave Lance flashbacks to his three years working retail hell during Black Friday when people would bang on the windows. “When will you open the door?” They’d ask. “Never.” Is what Lance wished to say instead of faking a smile and saying, “soon.”

Ugh.

Retail was awful, that was perhaps the closest that Lance had to being a zombie. Nothing in all honesty was more tiring than wearing a fake ass smile even as customers were shouting right in your face about their coupons that expired months ago.

Lance shuddered at the memory.

“You okay?” Keith asked, glanced up at Lance from where he knelt from the floor as he stuffed his backpack.

“Yeah, I’m as good as I can be. I guess you could say I’m getting… bi.”

Keith made a face that was the human embodiment of what can only be described as ???

Lance pointed towards Keith, a grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing with your hands?” Keith inquired.

Lance might have laughed at how Keith just looked so confused if he wasn’t too busy looking absolutely scandalized. Lance honestly looked as if Keith said Gasolina was a shitty song or that rice was useless and disgusting.

“Dude! Don’t tell me you don’t what finger guns are?” Lance questioned.

“Isn’t that, like, a Twenty One Pilots song or something?”

“No! That’s Guns for Hands! Christ, Keith did you live in 1800s or some shit?”

Keith snorted. “That was a joke. See, I can be funny.”

“Sure.”

“I am funny.” Keith insisted.

“Sure, and you’re as straight as a ruler..”

“How do you know? I could be straight.”

“I got that gaydar, Keith. I just know these things.”

Keith shook his head. “No, man. I’m straight.”

“Really?” Lance squeaked.

Keith laughed. “Oh, shit! You believed me! Ha! Got you!”

Lance shook his head, an expression of disbelief upon his face.

“I’m super gay. I’ve never romantically liked a girl in my life,” Keith said.

“I like girls, they’re so pretty, smell so good, and they’re soft. But, also muscular girls are amazing. All girls are amazing. They’re too good for this world, honestly,” Lance sighed.

“They’re pretty but I’m not attracted to them.” Keith shrugged.

“Why can’t guys smell like girls do?”

“Well, everyone smells like shit right now anyways, if it’s any consolation,” Keith replied. He paused, turned his head to sniff at himself and immediately made a face of complete and utter disgust.

“Ew,” Lance said.

“You stink too,” Keith protested.

“Yeah, don’t I know it.”

“I miss showers. I’d love a nice cold shower,” Keith admitted, a sad look to his eyes.

Lance looked aghast.

“What?”

“You like cold showers?” Lance asked.

“Uh, yeah?”

Lance shook his head. “You’re fuckin’ weird, bro.”

“Says the guy who’s got some weird Shakira fetish. Seriously, dude. You know like all of her songs and shit. It’s weird.”

“Suck my entire dick, Keith,” Lance retorted.

Keith made a rather unattractive snort as he looked to Lance and shook his head.“In your dreams, asshole,” He said.

 

* * *

 

Lance and Keith decided another night inside the store wouldn’t be too bad. They could escape the next morning, well rested and prepared to face the day.

“Hey, do you have any more granola bars? I ate my last one earlier,” Lance said, a frown at his lips.

Keith nodded, grabbed his backpack and opened it before he handed Lance a granola bar.

“Thanks,” Lance muttered, as he opened the bar-

“No!” Keith hissed.

“What?” Lance whispered.

“Not on the sleeping bag! You’ll get crumbs on it!” Keith exclaimed, though he tried to keep his voice quiet as not to agitate the zombies outside.

Lance rolled his eyes and opened the bar before he went on to eat it.

“Really?” Keith snapped.

Lance shrugged.

Keith shook his head in disapproval and crossed his arms over his chest. He turned his gaze away from Lance and back to the shutters. It was relatively quiet now, the zombies hadn’t made a noise in a while.

That was a little strange.

A part of Keith wanted to be relieved, but the other part of him felt as though something wrong. It was a sensation just beneath his skin, like the feeling when you think there’s a bug on you. Yet, when you look there’s nothing there. But, you knew you felt it.

Something was amiss. What exactly, Keith could not put his finger on it.

Even as if his watch ended and it was his turn to get some rest, he could not take his mind off of this unshakable feeling.

 

* * *

 

Early in the morning, they made their escape. They lifted up and slipped out from under the shudders. Lance and Keith were immediately confronted with the sight of ravenous eyes, clacking teeth, and slack jaws.

Early in the morning, they ran as if their lives depended on it.

Which it did. If the ten zombies on their heels were anything to go by.

“Meet me at the car,” Keith breathed.

Lance was going to tell Keith that splitting up was perhaps one of the stupidest ideas he's had so far, but Keith ran off before Lance could properly chew him out.

So, Lance played the avoidance game. He didn’t engage any of the zombies; Lance just ran, ducked under their reaching arms, and occasionally kicked a few away.

Desperately, he tried to shake them off. He had even managed to lose a few. But, it seemed the group was more or less multiplying. And it made sense, they always seemed to be drawn to noise. Perhaps, through repeated exposure they realized the moans of other walkers often meant food was near by. After all, they were mainly silent otherwise, they failed to vocalize anything aside from when they came into contact with living things, with their prey.

Lance ran.

Lance ran until his breaths became gasps, his lungs burned, sweat drenched him, and his legs felt akin to jelly.

Yet, even as he ran, it felt as if the sounds of the zombies grew louder and louder.

Just when he felt that this would be his end, an ugly car appeared before him.

It was a 1985 Chevrolet Cavalier, in the ugliest shade of beige. The passenger door was ajar and through it he could see-

Keith.

“Get in the car, loser!” He shouted.

Lance wasted no time.

He hopped into the car and slammed the door shut just as the dead caught up to him.

And Lance had to scramble into the driver’s seat, Keith into the passenger’s- then Lance drove, slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

“I thought you didn’t know how to drive,” Lance said, breathlessly.

“I don’t. You should’ve seen me trying to steer this thing,” Keith replied, an amused expression on his face.

Lance chuckled. “Where’d you find this car, anyways?” He inquired.

Keith didn’t say anything.

There was a scream from outside.

Keith glanced back to look out the back of the car, saw where the zombies had strayed away from the vehicle and gathered by. “Hmm?”

“Where’d you find the car?” Lance asked.

“Parking lot. Duh,” Keith replied with averted eyes.

“Oh, okay,” Lance said.

Lance didn’t believe him.

"What about that scream back there?"

"Drive," Keith said, coldly.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters keep getting longer and longer i s2g. Anyways, thank you for the amazing feedback so far!! Your comments and stuff make my day, bless y'all. Also, I'm tracking these tags on tumblr: vld eat your heart out, klance eat your heart out. My blog is [here.](http://kl-eatyourheartout.tumblr.com/)
> 
> there's [art](http://morgensternmary.tumblr.com/post/150607243000/dont-pick-up-hitchhikers-and-read-eat-your-heart) for this fic!!! Thank you so much, it's absolutely gorgeous and I love it so much. <3
> 
> also, I recently made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/wishingsebastianstanwasmyman/playlist/3hrWHTaKV8r5g6ix3t1yiB) for this fic on spotify if you'd like to give it a listen.
> 
> tw for homophobia, for mention of the word rape, there's also violence but ofc that's p much typical in a zombie au lol. (do let me know if u need a tw for smth in the chapter notes.) Edit: changed the stranger's appearance bc ppl were getting confused and thought it was shiro. My bad, sorry for the confusion!

It was a crisp November afternoon on the day Lance’s world ended.

He lived on campus, but he was just coming back after Thanksgiving at his uncle’s place. It had been a lovely occasion, the whole family gathered to eat and drag each other- because, let’s be real, a majority of Latinx family gatherings tended to be like a dragging contest.

Like, those shoes you love? “What are those?” is yelled at least three times, one of which is by your 76 year old grandfather. It’s kind of a fiasco, but a beautiful one. Shakira, Carlos Vives, Marc Anthony, and Daddy Yankee are all played at least once. And the food. Oh, man. Lance missed the food most of all.

Lance had been coming off of the high he had experienced from being around his loved ones and having a pleasant holiday. It had been really nice- surprisingly, no shit had gone down. Like, the year before when Lance came out. Most of his family had been pretty cool about it, especially his cousins and siblings. But, his father had looked at him, all wide-eyed and his expression horrified as if Lance announced something so horrific.

His grandparents and his older sister had already known and accepted it, but Lance had been putting off telling his father.

With good reason.

“You are bisexual?”

Lance nodded.

“...So, you like men and women.”

“ _S-sí_.”

His father closed his eyes, shaking his head.

Silence ensued.

“ _Coño,_ ” Lance's father sighed heavily.

“Dad, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not! Why couldn’t you pretend to be straight? You already are half straight, no? Why are you coming at me with this... with this homo shit?”

The next silence that ensued around the table was thick, stifling.

“ _Papí_ , what the hell?” It was Lance’s older sister, Sofia who spoke.

“Sofia!”

“What?” She snapped.

“ _¿Qué chingados te importa?_ ” Lance’s father shouted.

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing! So what if Lance likes men as well as women? It’s not your life!”

Lance was growing increasingly anxious by the minute.

_“¡Salga!”_

“Fine! You want to be like this? Lance, let’s go. You and I are going to have a nice Thanksgiving away from this fuckin’ piece of trash-”

“Sofia!” Lance’s mother warned.

“You just let him talk to your son like this? Lance is still the same. He’s just more honest. He was scared to come out because of this! All you did was prove him right!” Sofia shouted.

And with that, she took Lance’s hand and led him out the door.

Sofia left him at her place, went back to grab his things, and he spent the rest of thanksgiving there.

In comparison, this year had been much nicer. He spent at his grandparents’ place and though he was sad his father didn’t come around, he had plenty of his relatives who were so nice about it.

Of course, then a few of them were trying to hook him up. “Isn’t he cute? He’s single!” or “She’s pretty, yeah?”

And now, it was all gone. He got on campus, took a nap, and awoke to a blood bath.

He had heard screaming and snarling out in the hallway, was about to open the door when something in his gut told him not to. He looked outside and it was hard to tell from the third floor at first but it soon became clear- he watched in horror as he saw people eating each other.

Lance all but threw himself under the bed, covered his ears, and tried to slow his breathing. His sweaty hands had grasped at his rosary and held it so tight it hurt, he closed his eyes, and prayed desperately not to die.

He stayed in that room for days, afraid to move.

“-Lance?” It was Keith’s voice that pulled him out of the memories, out of the dread that filled his body.

Lance curled up tighter, leaned his head against the window. There was nothing to be seen, it was dark, there wasn’t a light for miles, and the can line was set up.

“Lance, talk to me. You’re freaking me out,” Keith said.

“You left someone to die. And I kept going,” Lance whispered, horrified.

Keith fell quiet.

It stayed that way for a while, nothing but darkness between them.

“You think I’m some kind of murderer or something?” Keith inquired.

“You left someone to die. I bet this was their car, too.”

“It was. And, yeah, I did leave someone to die. You know why? They fucking deserved it.”

Lance froze at the pure hatred in Keith’s tone. His voice was still a whisper, didn’t have to go up for Lance to know that Keith was furious. The darkness around them was charged with tension.

There was nothing that could possibly be said, Lance realized.

He closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

 

* * *

 

Keith and Lance hadn’t spoken in almost two days except for when absolutely and strictly necessary. Only to ask after supplies, directions, but never another full fledged conversation.

“Hey,” Lance said, his voice quiet.

“Hey,” Keith echoed.

“You got another granola bar?” Lance asked.

Keith didn’t answer verbally, he merely gave a nod of his head. He unzipped his backpack and carefully rifled through it. He first searched through the first and largest pocket. He paused and frowned, then moved onto the next one. It wasn’t until he opened the smallest pocket that he finally pulled out an admittedly squished looking granola bar.

“Here. Sorry, it’s crushed and shit,” Keith said.

“It’s cool. If I had milk it’d be like cereal,” Lance muttered as he took the granola bar from Keith.

“I hate milk. It literally tastes like it comes from a cow’s tit.”

Lance couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “Dude, you are so gay.”

Keith’s eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

“Like, the milk…?”

“What about it?”

“You know, about the tits.”

Keith appeared even more confused.

“...Never mind,” Lance said.

At this, Keith said nothing. But, he did arch an eyebrow before he zipped his backpack closed. He set it down by his feet and turned his attention to the window. He watched the blur of the landscape as they drove past it, the scenery looked like something out of an impressionist’s painting. It was all a blotted blur of green, brown, blue, and gray hues.

It was funny that in spite of so much death and decay in the world, yet, here the trees still were evergreen and sky remained azure with wisps of clouds that floated around at their leisure.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

Keith hesitated.

Why were the words so hard to spit out? It felt as if they were lodged in his very throat, that not matter what he’d do, they’d stick.

Why did he care? It’s not like he knew Lance. Sure, they had been together a little while. But, they weren’t friends. Not really.

“Keith?” Lance said, his tone conveyed the confusion he felt.

“Um. Are you… Are you still upset about what happened back at the mall?” Keith inquired, a frown at his lips.

“I mean… I don’t know. I am, but… I don’t know. I’m worried that I can’t, like, trust you or something,” Lance admitted.

“I stand by what I said. This guy was the absolute worst of the worst. It was him or me. I chose me,” Keith said. He sounded sure of himself, the tone of his voice left no room for argument. He stood by what he said.

Keith could not be swayed.

What could Lance possibly say? Again, Keith was incapable of being swayed. Perhaps, it didn’t sit quite right in his gut. But, Keith wasn’t a bad guy. If this person had been as bad as he had said, and the choice was down to that man and himself, could Lance fault him?

In truths, it was a terrible decision to make. Nonetheless, it was done. No amount of squabbling could change that.

“Okay,” Lance said, quietly.

Keith looked at his face briefly, lips parted as if he was poised to say more. In the end, he didn’t. Just went back to staring out the window.

Lance hadn’t ever met anyone who was as stubborn as himself, and yet- there was Keith.

He had met his match, hadn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Slowly but surely, the rift between them had begun to patch itself up. They still maintained their strange relationship- their rivalry, but it no longer held the strife from the mall incident.

They still drove each other crazy, though.

Lance wondered if it was possible for either of them to actually get along. Possibly, but he liked teasing and poking fun at Keith, liked to compete with him.

It wasn’t a game, not really.

There was just something genuinely fun, something about actually having someone to compete with him. Lance had always been competitive, whether it was in school, home, or with his friends.

Yeah, this is what he had been missing in this miserable shit storm of a zombie apocalypse.

Companionship.

Or, in Keith’s case, someone to dick around with.

And maybe a small part of Lance wanted to dick around with Keith in other ways besides basically trying to see who could grab the most supplies or who ran faster.

If Keith was down with it, then why not? It’s not like Lance had a lot of options here. Plus, Keith wasn’t so bad. He was kinda cute. He had pretty violet eyes, his skin looked so soft, creamy, and smooth. His hair looked silky- sure, it needed a wash and he could use a better haircut but otherwise, he didn’t look bad.

“You okay?” Keith asked, his skin painted in shades of gold by the light of their campfire.

“Hmm?”

“You were, like, staring.”

“Was I?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Lance simply shrugged, a slight smirk at his lips.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Keith questioned, one of his hands darted to touch his cheek.

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

Lance didn’t answer, just took Keith’s hand, moved it away and leaned in.

He closed his eyes, prepared for the press of Keith’s soft lips against his own, felt jitters stirring in him as he anticipated the way Keith might taste, how he might kiss-

There was a hand on his chest. It was Keith’s.

Lance tried to lean in more, but was prevented from doing so. He thought Keith had been trying to pull in him in closer, though he then realized it was the opposite.

Keith’s eyes were wide, his lips parted, and eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?” He asked, tersely.

Keith’s body was rigid, he looked rather startled.

“Trying to kiss you.”

“What? Why?”

“The undeniable atmosphere between us,” Lance replied.

Keith arched an eyebrow. “You don’t like me.”

“Eh, you’re not so bad.”

“Aren’t you charming?”

“I try to be,” Lance said, a smirk at his lips. “So, are you into a make out session with moi? Maybe a little more?”

“Not particularly,” Keith replied flatly, his eyes narrowed.

Lance simply shrugged before he moved away.

Wow, talk about awkward.

Keith didn’t add anything after that, just went on to tending the fire. “I’ll take first watch,” He said. He didn’t look at Lance when he spoke.

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, still not looking at Lance.

Lance got into the tent, closed the flap, and laid against his sleeping bag. He closed his eyes and began to count backwards from 100.

He wasn’t tired, though. He couldn’t fall asleep. He had almost kissed Keith. And he made everything awkward after they had finally settled their issues.

What were they?

Rivals?

Sort of.

Not friends. Lance wasn’t sure they ever really could be, at any rate.

Sleep did not come easily for him- it came at a snail’s pace and even then, it was fitful.

 

* * *

 

Lance slept through the night, Keith awoke him at dawn for his shift to take up watch. It was possibly around six or seven, the pale light of dawn bathing the forest in a hue of pale blue as the sun began its ascent into the sky.

All around him, nothing stirred, save the foliage as the wind swept through it. There were little to no animal sounds. It was eerie, truth be told. Lance had his guard up, eyes careful as they scanned the forest for any possible zombies or whatever else could possibly lurk behind the overgrown vegetation surrounding their camp.

The can line moved with the breeze, rattled and thumped as a few of them hit the thick tree trunks. A sense of panic had arisen in Lance, thick and stifling. He could almost choke on it, as if it were a lump lodged in his throat.

And the stillness of the forest was destroyed when out of the bushes barreled out a large shape.

Lance shrieked, taken off guard. His trembling fingers tightened upon his bat, ready to charge when the figure threw its arms up.

“Wait! I-I’m not one of them!”

It was a person.

A man, middle aged, pale skinned, light brown greasy hair sprinkled with gray. His eyes were light, appeared almost yellow in the pale morning light. He wasn’t scrawny like the other survivors Lance had come across. No, he was clearly well-fed. He shook so hard it was visible from where Lance stood.

“I saw the fire. I thought- thought you might be able to help me. I got separated from my group-”

“Not another step,” Hissed another voice.

It was Keith.

His hair was up in a messy ponytail, some of the strands spilled in front of his eyes- and his eyes. Their depths were filled with pure hatred and burned like violet embers.

“I see that patch on your clothing. You’re already over the can line. Don’t take another step.”

“Keith, what’s going on?” Lance inquired, confused.

“This scum is just like the other guy from the mall,” Keith snarled.

The man’s jaw dropped.

“The mall 10 miles from here? What do you mean? You… You were the one who killed Todd? What was left him was found but we couldn’t find his car,” The man whispered.

Lance looked to Keith, still appearing confused.

“You left him for dead after you stole the car?” The man asked.

“You bet your ass I left that fuckin’ thieving, raping, murderous piece of shit to die-”

The man charged.

Lance stuck his foot out, watched as he fell to the floor.

Keith was on him in an instant, the minute the man tried to rise, Keith delivered a swift kick to his face. He didn’t even flinch at the crunch of the man’s nose, or the blood that gushed immediately from it.

“Stay down!” Keith growled.

Lance was unsettled to say in the least.

Perhaps he been right when he assumed that Keith was a murderous psychopath with an axe to grind.

“Keith. What’s going on?” Lance asked.

“This shit is a part of group that goes around taking stuff from other survivors. Anything they want, they take. They’re all a group of murderers, thieves, and rapists. Fucking scum of the earth.” Keith’s frame shook as he spoke, whether from fear, rage, or a combination of both- Lance could not tell.

“Oh, shit,” was all Lance could say.

Keith didn’t answer.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t get my axe out of the dressing room,” Keith said.

“Keith-”

“Lance. Give me your bat.”

Lance didn’t know what to say, felt jittery all over again. “What… What do you need it for?” He asked.

Keith’s eyes were narrowed as he looked to Lance, he didn’t speak just averted his glance to the man before them.

“What do you need it for?” Lance insisted, his tone hesitant.

“I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

The man screamed.

“Please, no! Please, I only hung out with them for protection, I never-”

Keith kicked him again.

“Keith, stop.”

“Lance. This guy has probably done numerous horrible, unspeakable things.”

“He said he didn’t do it, though.”

“Are you fucking naive?”

“No. I just… it doesn’t feel right. It’s not right. You’re no better than those people you mentioned, if you-”

Keith shook his head, undid his ponytail and ran a hand through his hair, before he put it back up again. He shook his head again, bit his lip, and sighed. “Lance-”

“No. I… I won’t feel comfortable with you, anymore. If you do this… I mean, can I trust you? When we first met-”

“I thought you were one of them!”

“Huh?”

“Your jacket? The black one with that patch. I saw it on that day, I thought you were one of them- I realized you weren’t after a while. I mean, you were annoying but, you weren’t like them. Evil.”

Lance was quiet, unable to meet Keith’s gaze.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Lance, come on,” Keith said, he took a step towards him.

Lance flinched.

Hurt flashed in Keith’s eyes at the way Lance had recoiled from him. As if he were some sort of monster.

“I don’t know you that well, do I? Now, you’re, like, getting all cold and vengeful. It’s kind of alarming.”

“Lance, you’re not listening to me. These guys are evil. They’ve hurt so many innocent people-”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Lance inquired.

There was the hurt in Keith’s eyes again, his jaw slack. Lance wanted to believe him. But what if Keith was lying? What if he was unstable? He already proved what he was capable of, proved that he could very well be dangerous. What if he turned on Lance next?

“I’m sorry,” Lance said, and he really was.

“I can’t let him go, Lance. You don’t understand.”

“I do. But, I literally can’t sit here and watch you murder someone, Keith.”

“You don’t have to. Give me your bat. Look at the rabbits, Lance,” Keith snapped.

“Nice reference. You gonna beat me to death with that bat, too?” Lance retorted.

“Fuck you,” Keith spat. “You really think after what we’ve been through- I’m just going to kill you? You think I’d do that? You think I’m some sort of psycho murderer out of a slasher film or something? Fuck you, Lance. Fuck you!”

The man started sobbing anew into the dirt, Lance had nearly forgotten about him.

“You know what? Forget the bat,” Keith said. He took his knife out of it’s sheath.

“Keith, buddy, don’t do this.”

“Yeah, I have to.”

“You don’t!” Lance shouted.

Keith honestly looked pained. “I do, man. They... took my only friend. He’s dead now. If they didn’t kill him. Or worse, he could be wandering around as… as a biter... I have to do this.”

Lance tried to grab Keith’s arm, to stop him, but Keith wrenched it out of his grasp and gave him a shove. Lance stumbled back, tripped over a tree’s root-

“Keith, please don’t!” He shouted.

Keith knelt down, grabbed the man by his hair, uncaring of his sobs and pleas for mercy.

Lance grabbed his bat and scrambled to his feet. He didn’t look, he didn’t want to. He ducked under the can line and ran. He ran, and didn’t stop- not even when Keith called his name. He ran, and ran until Keith’s voice was swept away with the breeze.

He didn’t know where he was headed to but he went where ever his feet would take him.

Lance stumbled, tried to stop when he realized there was a ravine ahead- but, it was too late. For a moment, he was airborne. And then, he was falling, tumbling down the ravine. He tried to stop himself from rolling down, but then his senses all became clouded.

There was a river at the end and he had just fallen in it, he realized.

Lance tried to swim to the surface, tried and tried- but, it was in vain. His vision grew dark, and he slipped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:
> 
> ¿Qué chingados te importa? - what the fuck do you care?
> 
> ¡Salga! - get out!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to include Keith's pov but then the chapter got too long so it'll be next chapter that we see what happened with Keith. This chapter is p heavy, with lots of introspection.
> 
> Thanks for all the feedback so far, I'm really grateful for all your kind and lovely words! :*

The first thing that registered to Lance, as his eyes began open once more, was that he felt like complete shit. He coughed, coughed, and tried to clear his airways. Lance was trembling, soaked absolutely down to his very core. He coughed again, then heaved.

He retched.

Fuck, it was getting harder to move.

Everything felt as if he was being tugged down by some all powerful, unseen force. As if gravity from a far off planet was weighing down and crushing him.

He dug his hands into the bank of the river as he hauled himself up, mud squishing between his fingers. He took a deep breath, hauled his waterlogged body up, higher and higher, he was so close to where the grass began. Finally, after what felt like forever, Lance had managed to crawl up the bank and away from the river’s edge. 

He leaned against the trunk of tree as he fought to catch his breath. Lance was so cold.

He looked to the sky, and it was nearing dusk. The blue sky was blending with green and purple hues, the sun sunk down to the treeline.

How long had he been out?

Lance realized he didn’t have his bat on him and he had left his backpack when he ran.

He was defenseless, without any supplies, and weakened from being tossed around the river after his tumble down the ravine.

This sucked ass.

And just if things could not possibly get worse, there was a rustling off to Lance’s left.

He didn’t dare breathe as he carefully moved to glance off to the side. Sure enough to his left, there’s a zombie stumbling about. It hasn’t taken notice of him yet, thankfully.

But, it’s only a matter of time. And Lance had no way to defend himself should it decide to attack.

Lance took a deep breath in an attempt to steel his nerves.

He could do this.

He could do this.

He would be okay, he would be safe.

If he looked at the brightside, he already was beginning to dry off. 

Now, all he had to do was get out of this situation, then he was free to look for his family.

He’d be okay.

With that thought in mind, Lance carefully and quietly got to his feet and did his best to creep on by to the next tree.

Time for some more stealth.

Lance took a deep breath, tried to crush down the rising panic he was beginning to feel. He poked his head out, made sure he could not be seen, and quietly made his way to the next tree.

He did it again and again; wash, rinse, repeat.

He was nearly homefree.

Until he wasn’t.

Lance, quite simply, fucking biffed it.

He had tripped over a tree root, a particularly thick one, of course.

And landed on his face.

His nose hurt so fucking bad that there were tears pooling in his eyes. And his nose itself was gushing blood.

If that wasn’t bad enough, well, there was the fact that there was a loud moan of a zombie. Presumably, because it had heard his fall.

Lance scrambled his feet, and sure enough, there was one headed his way.

It snarled; all cloudy eyes, bared teeth, curled fingers, and rotting flesh.

Lance ran as fast as he could manage in his weakened, waterlogged state.

All around him, the forest steadily was growing darker, the zombie on his heels sounded as if it was growing closer, and closer.

He turned, and it was on him.

Lance stumbled, threw his arm out to shove at the zombie- and narrowly avoided the clank of teeth as it attempted to bite at Lance’s flesh.

It snarled again, stumbled back.

“Go away!” Lance pleaded, kicked at the revived corpse when it attempted to get back up once more.

“Please, please. Just leave me alone,” Lance sobbed, kicked the zombie again and staggered away in order to try to find something, just something to use to kill it.

His hands scrabbled along the dirt, found a branch, smacked the zombie with it, but the branch wasn’t thick enough to deliver a killing blow. If anything, the creature more or less grew more frenzied.

Lance grabbed a rock; it was one so large he had to hold with both hands, big as they were.

“Please, just go away, leave me alone.”

The zombie snarled and reached for him.

Lance brought the rock down, and nearly gagged at the sound of rock against bone, the loud cracking of it’s skull, the spurt of blood that followed the first blow.

It only took a few more times of Lance slamming the rock down on the zombie’s temple, for it to go quiet and still. Lance was left with blood splattered across his face and chest, his hands soaked in red.

There was a ring on the zombie’s finger, the gold glimmering in the low light. There was a necklace around the corpse’s slender throat, the locket had fallen open, exposing the picture of two smiling children.

“Fuck,” Lance whispered. 

He got up, leaned against a trunk. 

And he retched again.

Lance wiped at his mouth with his sleeve and went on walking.

This was probably one of the first times he had ever really thought about the people the dead once were. Lance didn’t like to think about, usually he would just compartmentalize it. 

He didn’t want to be on his own, did he? But what choice did he have?

Alone, that’s was he was.

That’s all he was, he realized.

And all he would ever be.

Alone.

….

The sun had set, the forest bathed in the dying blue light of dusk as the night slowly swept in across the horizon. 

Visibility was all but gone by the time Lance managed to find a tree both sturdy and easy enough for him to climb. It took a lot out of him, his limbs ached and screamed their protest as he made his ascent.

Finally, he stopped. He leaned against the trunk of the tree, his legs dangled off of the thick branch. It was uncomfortable to say in the least, but the night ahead of him would be long.

There was no way he could sleep, not tonight. Not with the strong gusts of wind blowing all around, the footsteps beneath the branches along with the occasional moan from the zombies that surely were below.

Lance felt pathetic.

For all the shit he talked about Keith, he really wasn’t too bad, murderous cold blooded rage aside. It had been nice to have someone to talk to, it was nice not to be alone anymore.

But, that was over now. Wasn’t it?

Things always ended like this. He’d meet people, then he’d lose them- be it to disease, to the zombies, or other people themselves.

Perhaps, the Big Guy Upstairs was looking down on him and laughing. 

Yeah, maybe Lance was just one big fucking joke to Him and whatever higher powers that existed in the universe. 

The rosary around his neck felt cold, but his face was flushed with heat as tears welled up in his eyes.

Yeah, maybe he was destined to be alone.

…..

Morning came, announced by the song of birds as the sun slowly rose in the sky. Dawn painted the forest in a pale light, the trees swayed with the winds as they blew hard enough that Lance feared he’d be knocked out of the tree.

The ground was free of zombies, so Lance made his descent back to earth.

Briefly he mused that it was almost akin to a descent into hell. Lance left the safety of the tree for whatever things may happen on the forest’s floor.

And for what?

What were the chances that he’d be able to find Keith again?

Extremely low, of course.

He made it to the ground, safe and sound.

He’d probably be alone for the rest of his life.

Lance ran a hand through his messy hair, inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes for a brief little moment.

There was the crunch of leaves behind him, a soft groan from undead vocal chords.

Lance didn’t look back.

He ran.

…

It was perhaps around noon, when Lance had finally shaken off that one zombie and managed to get, well, lost.

All the trees looked the same.

Had he gone in circles?

Lance tried to find the river again, listened for the sound of water but it was near impossible to hear over the heavy winds.

He had to be lost, there was no telling where he was.

Where would he go? He had no food, no weapons, and no provisions of any sort. He had nothing but the clothes on his back.

He just had to keep going, had to keep walking until he wound up in the place he was before.

If Lance ever saw Keith again, he would be slightly less of an asshole towards him. 

He didn’t want to be alone like this, not again. 

Lance was the sort of person that thrived on human contact, that needed to have company.

Lance was the sort of person that didn’t do well on his own.

Lance was the sort of person who couldn’t be alone with his thoughts- lest his doubts find him, wrap tight around his throat, and choke him.

_There was a ring on the zombie’s finger, the gold glimmering in the low light. There was a necklace around the corpse’s slender throat, the locket had fallen open, exposing the picture of two smiling children._

No, no.

Stop.

He didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think of the person that zombie had been. Lance didn’t want to think about how that had once been a person with a family, with friends. He didn’t want to think about how it had once laughed and loved, cried and raged. How it- how they had once been human.

They had someone who loved them, someone who missed them- that could be missing them right in this very second.

He didn’t want to think about the children smiling in the photograph, and how they probably didn’t smile anymore. Or worse, if they were rotting away somewhere, whether it was stumbling around for their next meal or six feet under.

Lance didn’t want to think about how everyone in every photograph he had come across was dead or, worse, undead.

It wasn’t fair.

Lance wondered why he still kept walking.

What was the point?

What was the meaning of life now? Surely, there had to be something. It couldn’t just be this- to fight tooth and nail for what little you’ve got, and pray that you don’t get it ripped away by the teeth and fingernails of the dead.

Why did he keep going?

Lance didn’t know.

He just walked, and walked.

He missed his mom’s hugs, his dad’s laugh, his older sister Sofia’s singing and going to his youngest sister Samira’s soccer games, his brother Antonio’s silly magic tricks, his uncles, his aunts, his grandparents, his little nieces, nephews, and cousins.

He once had it all, a big family who loved him. Maybe, not unconditionally, but, for some, in their own way.

Lance had had it all.

Until he didn’t.

He walked some more, until it was starting to grow late in the afternoon.

Lance was so hungry, so thirsty. And not in the thirst he had felt earlier when he tried to go in for a kiss with Keith and got shot down in only the most awkwardest of ways.

Speaking of Keith.

Lance would just about kill for one of his squished granola bars right now.

Keith always had so much food, was good at finding it, good at rationing it- and, yet, he always spared some for Lance, who really needed to get better about rationing his supplies.

But, Keith never really complained about that. At least, not too much.

Again, if Lance ever saw Keith again, he would definitely be slightly less of an asshole towards him. 

He still didn’t know how he felt about the whole murdering in cold blooded vengeance, but he thought about the look in Keith’s eyes, the way his voice had trembled as he spoke of his friend.

Lance understood. He couldn’t condone nor condemn it, but he could understand.

It made him wonder, though.

Would Lance do the same, had that gang had done something to hurt his family, his friends? Could he? If he had a knife, a decision, if he was looking down at someone- could he decide to drag the blade across their throat as Keith surely did with that man?

Maybe.

Lance kept walking.

The sun was beginning to set again.

But, as if his luck had suddenly turned- ahead, there appeared a path.

He followed it, began to run, his legs pumping furiously as he made his way up a swell in the path, down the dip. Lance hopped over a branch, careful not to biff it again.

Lance could almost taste freedom on wind, his heart beating like a drum.

There was something at the end of this path, he just knew it. 

There had to be. 

Maybe, the universe decided to smile upon him on this day; at the end of the path was a little home, nestled among the trees.

It look abandoned, but also sturdy, as if it could withstand whatever nature threw at it.

Lance dashed towards it.

Maybe, he could catch a break after all.

And there might even be food inside.

The fading sunlight was warm as he reached the house, the wind ruffled his hair delicately as if by a lover’s hand, and he couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he had a roof over his head for the first time in so long.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for all the feedback so far! Y'all are amaze! :D
> 
> I'm tracking the tags #vld eat your heart out and #klance eat your heart out on tumblr.
> 
> please leave a comment or kudos if you'd like! I hope u enjoy this chapter! <3
> 
> here's [my blog.](https://kl-eatyourheartout.tumblr.com/%22)

Keith was, well, freaking the fuck out.

Lance was nowhere to be seen. Last time Keith had seen him was when  he ran off into forest.

Keith, of course, had gone in after him, despair filled his being as he thought of the possibility that Lance had possibly been attacked by biters, that he could be dead in this very moment and it would be all Keith’s fault.

Keith couldn’t take back what he had just done. Truth be told, he wouldn’t even if he could. He stood by what he said and what he had done. That man deserved everything Keith had dished out to him and more.

But, he didn’t think Lance would react so strongly to it, that he’d actually run off.

He was about to turn back when he saw the ravine, until he saw the wooden baseball bat lying by it, the skid tracks in the mud. His heart seized painfully in his chest as he carefully leant down to grab the bat.

There was no sign of Lance below the ravine, the fall wasn’t that far but the river was swollen from all the rain it had received over the past few days.

Keith had to pause, to take a deep breath. He could feel panic rising like bile in his throat, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. 

What if Lance was down there? What if he had been swept away or worse? He didn't know if Lance was able to swim.

What if he had drowned?

Keith wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he found Lance’s drowned, mangled corpse somewhere downstream.

The wooden bat felt heavy in his hands, stained with dried blood and mud.

“Lance!” Keith hissed.

Keith moved away from the edge of the ravine, back towards the forest. He crept around quietly, his hands clutched the bat as he carefully surveyed the forest for movement.

“Lance?”

He had lost him.

A pit opened within his stomach, a void that his heart had dropped through as despair crept up his spine.

Keith had lost Lance.

He had to keep going, but first doubled back to the camp, packed up the tent and all their shared supplies. He took Lance’s backpack, emptied it and moved the stuff into his own backpack. Keith put on his own backpack, grabbed Lance’s empty bookbag and slid it onto his right arm, and his left hand clutched at Lance’s baseball bat.

He was going to find him.

He had to.

* * *

 

Keith had wandered around for hours, but Lance was nowhere to be seen. The sun began to set, the sky’s hue darkened. Keith hadn’t encountered any biters, surprisingly. It had been just him, the wind, the sun, and the trees.

And Lance was nowhere to be found.

The wind began to blow hard.

And Keith thought he may have heard whispers on the wind.

He hurried to find somewhere to set up camp, but it’d be near impossible to sleep when he didn’t know there’d be someone to watch his back.

Keith decided, maybe he could climb up a tree. He had seen Lance do it once. It was sort of unreal how quickly Lance could scramble up a tree.

_ “How’d you climb so fast?” Keith asked. _

_ “Practice!” Lance replied, a cheery grin on his face. _

Keith could do it. If Lance with all his gangly limbs and scrawny ass self could somehow manage to haul himself up, Keith could do it.

Keith used to be a bit of a fitness nut, pre-apocalypse. Which is probably what saved his ass so far. Cardio and upper body strength is very important in the apocalypse, for sure.

Time to climb.

Keith’s arms stretched over his head, his hands grasped at the thick branch and tried to get a good grip on it. His legs dangled a little. He tried to get his feet up on the trunk-

Nope, that wasn’t going to work.

He hopped down, took a deep breath and tried to re-evaluate how to get the fuck up the tree.

Keith’s hand dug through his pocket, pulled out a little bandana he had found at the mall and used it to get his hair out of his face.

Once again, he tried to tackle the tree. Well, not tackle it. But, tried to climb it again.

He got his foot up on a little groove, pulled himself up towards the branch-

Keith lost his footing.

He fell.

To say that the fall knocked the breath out of him was an understatement. He coughed, tried to breathe, his head throbbed, and his vision swam.

Fuck.

Keith was winded, took a second to regain his breath, to breath regularly again.

He got up and fixed the bandana.

He could do this.

After a few tries Keith managed to haul himself up.

It was hard, his limbs screamed their protest, the bark bit into his hands and scraped his skin through his clothing but still he climbed on.

The sun’s dying light filtered through the trees, cast dappled shadows across his skin, black t-shirt, and jeans.

His sneakers were ruined and more or less beginning to fall apart, he probably would have to see about getting some new ones.

Keith missed his boots.

He managed to get high up enough, took a break to catch his breath. He grabbed his backpack, and fished through it to grab his water bottle.

In hindsight, he probably should not have downed the entire thing.

The sun set and Keith’s bladder decided then that he had to go very badly.

And he remembered he had left Lance’s bat propped up against the tree’s trunk.

Keith groaned.

Fuck his life, honestly.

He was too afraid to sleep, too worried about falling out of the tree.

Keith was also a little worried about peeing on himself.

Morning could not come soon enough.

But, boy, when it did- Keith hightailed it down the tree, made sure there were no zombies, and promptly relieved himself.

He grabbed Lance’s bat before going on his merry way.

Keith was going to find him. It wasn’t option not to look, not an option to fail, and it certainly wasn’t an option to outright quit his search for Lance. He had to see it through.

 

* * *

 

 

Something wasn’t quite right, here.

Keith couldn’t figure it out, but it felt almost as if he was being watched.

He turned around, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. His eyes were something to behold in the sunlight, the violet hue so bright and beautiful as the light reflected upon them.

There was nothing in the bushes.

The wind picked up, silent save for the rustle of foliage.

Still, he felt as if he were being watched.

Keith walked on.

It was midday and he needed to use whatever light remained to find Lance. He was lucky it was still summer and that it stayed lighter outside much longer.

The wind blew all around him and the creepy-crawly sensation of being watched had a cold dread sliding up his spine, but still he was alone.

Keith truly was lucky that he hadn’t seen a biter in a while.

Though, truth be told, Keith was more worried about the biters he couldn’t see.

And he really was worried about Lance.

Wherever he was, he didn’t have any supplies, or weapons. Not that Lance wasn’t resourceful, Keith was sure he was. But, if a biter or two- or worse, more- tried to go after him… he may not be okay.

Keith walked a little faster along the river bank.

He needed to find a bridge, see if there was a possible way to cross the river. Maybe Lance had wound up on the other side. So far, Keith had not found a sign of him anywhere along this side of the river.

Keith grabbed his water bottle, took a sip, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

He shifted his book bag to grab a cereal bar and ate it as he continued to walked along the river’s bank.

He didn’t dare call out for Lance. Keith was too worried about something, or worse, someone else finding him before he could find Lance.

The wind picked up again and it was as if the forest had come alive.

There were whispers on the wind, too numerous for Keith to fully understand what they were saying.

_ Not responding to… _

_ Seeking one another out… _

_ Death is…. _

Keith froze, that sensation of being watched came back and felt stronger than ever. In fact, it felt as though there were a presence behind him.

_...th is coming… _

_ Death is… _

_ ….is coming... _

_ Finally found him… _

_ We're… _

_...coming. _

Keith turned around.

Nothing.

But the sensation would not leave him.

Keith walked faster until he worked himself into a jog, glanced behind himself but still it felt as though there was something behind him.

The voices were getting louder.

Keith was full on running, ducked into the forest.

The forest was alive, too bright, too many trees that all looked the same, and biters lurked around every corner.

They tried to grasp at him as he ran past, but Keith was too fast.

His heart slammed against his chest, his breaths harsh, and his grip on Lance’s bat was tight, desperate to keep a good hold on it in spite of his sweaty palms.

He ran for so long, until he stumbled across a clearing. He checked behind for any walkers.

It was clear.

Keith slumped against a tree trunk and tried to catch his breath.

He was panting so hard, his chest ached with every inhale.

His heart felt like it wanted nothing more than to explode out of his chest.

Keith was wheezing, his free hand splayed over his own chest as he tried to suck in gasps of air.

The back of his neck suddenly felt cold and the sensation of fingers running down the curve of it-

Keith screamed as he quickly turned around, the bat in his hands. He took up a defensive stance and was ready to swing.

There was nothing there.

Nothing but the wind, the trees, and the sunlight streaming through the little gaps in between the trees and their leaves.

Keith ran again, unable to get that sensation out of his mind- as if he were being touched by a cold hand.

There had been nothing there, though.

What was happening?

It had to have been a trick of his mind.

Had his mind finally cracked under the constant stress of the apocalypse? Was this some form of psychosis he was experiencing after having lost Lance and before that, his best friend Shiro? Or perhaps, was he being haunted from beyond the grave?

 

* * *

 

Keith ran until his legs burned and he fell to the floor.

Everything hurt.

Should he give in? Just close his eyes and slip away?

_ “Keith, don’t worry, okay? We’re going to be okay.” _

_ “I…” _

_ It was getting hard to breathe, panic set in, the air felt stifling and oppressive. _

_ “I’m going to get you out of here.” _

And he had.

_ “Run!” _

_ “I can’t go without you!” _

_ Keith had been shoved, he stumbled and fell to floor. _

_ “Shiro-” _

_ “Dammit, Keith! Run and don’t look back! Just run!” _

And he did.

He didn’t look back, even as he heard his Shiro’s screams pierce the night.

Keith couldn’t give in.

Otherwise, all of it- Shiro’s sacrifice, it would have been wasted, all of it in vain.

No.

Keith wouldn’t give in.

It hurt, but he pulled himself to his feet.

He had to keep going.

For Shiro, for any of his friends that no longer were on this earth, for Lance, and for anyone who had ever cared about him and stayed by his side.

He ran through the forest, as he hurried towards the river’s bank.

Keith had to skid to a stop, his eyes wide with surprise as he came face to face with an axe propped up against the side of a tree’s trunk, nestled among the sprawling roots.

It was red, just like-

It was his axe.

How?

Keith had lost it at the mall. It had gotten stuck in the dressing room’s wall and Lance and him were unable to pry it out.

Yet, somehow, someway… it was here. Propped up against the tree as if it were a gift.

As if someone knew he was here.

Keith grabbed it and took off.

 

* * *

 

 

Daylight faded, dusk painted the sky in hues of purple and blue as the night closed in.

Keith had crossed the river over a little wooden bridge that creaked as he passed over it, ran down a path, he was about ready to drop from exhaustion. His throat ached, his limbs burned, and his body was covered in a sheet of sweat.

It’d be horrible to come this far and die from so pathetically- to die from running until he couldn’t manage to anymore.

As he raced through the forest, he had the impending feeling that something was horribly wrong.

Keith went down the path and found what appeared to be an abandoned home at it’s end.

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t consider it. But, he couldn’t sleep outside tonight. Not when he had a nagging sensation of being watched.

Keith ran up to the door, put the bat down against the home, and was surprised when he found it unlocked.

He opened the door, axe at the ready.

There, sprawled out in middle of the floor, was Lance.

“Lance!” Keith cried.

Lance looked up, his blue eyes wide. His mouth was gagged, hands tied behind his back, and his legs tied together. His eyes flooded with pure relief at the sight of Keith.

Not a split second later, fear replaced relief and Lance let out a muffled scream.

Keith tried to turn but there was a loud thump, white-hot pain exploded across the back of his head and bloomed behind his eyelids.

The axe fell from his grip and skidded across the floor, Keith’s hands flew to his head as he stumbled before he found himself sprawled across the floor.

Pain surrounded his body, he was unable to see past the blur of his tears.

But he could hear.

“If it isn’t the boss’s favorite little delivery boy.”

Keith’s blood ran cold at the voice that filled the room, tried to scramble away but it was futile. His limbs felt like lead, his body felt as if it was trying to sink beneath the floorboards.

He tried to speak, his words garbled.

The voice came again, the man’s cruel laughter filling the air.

“Oh, Keith. I’m glad you decided to come back. And you brought a friend, too. That’s really great. We’ve been looking for more workers, you know?”

Keith coughed, squeezed his eyes tight, and bared his teeth. “Fuck you. I’ll fucking kill you. All of you assholes,” He growled.

His vision cleared in time for him to see a boot before it kicked him in the face, he heard the crunch of his nose, and Lance’s muffled cries as the world faded into darkness.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me start by saying i'm so sorry i haven't updated in so long- life happened, finals happened, yoi happened lmao. But I finally got this finished!!! I plan to try and update again soon. Depends on how school goes. Thank you to all of you for your patience and encouraging comments, i really appreciate it. <3
> 
> Thank you so so much for all the amazing feedback you've left. It's so wonderful, I'm very touched. As always, I'm tracking the tags #vld eat your heart out and #klance eat your heart out on tumblr. And here's [my blog](https://kl-eatyourheartout.tumblr.com/)
> 
> tw for violence, abuse, threats of violence.

Lance, simply put, had fucked up.

Royally, he might even be inclined to add.

In light of recent events, there was not one new addition to his rules but two. The first addition was, ‘don't go into strange houses without checking first.’

Oh, and the other rule, ‘if it was too good to be true… then, guess what? It probably was.’

The abandoned home had been quiet, the gloom of night slowly spreading across the sky made it hard to see inside, but so far so good.

The kitchen had been a dream come true. So much food to be found. Lance shoved a can of tuna fish in his pocket, then grabbed an apple and began to eat it. It tasted so sweet, it was absolutely perfect- he didn’t even mind having sticky fingers.

He looked to the table.

Dinner plates.

Food was still on them- not decayed, not even a week old. It looked like the remains of this morning’s breakfast- eggs, toast, the whole shebang.

Lance’s heart stopped and he stared in horror.

The apple in his hand plummeted to the floor and rolled across the wooden floorboards, disappeared from view once it ran under the table.

It probably looked like a scene from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

Shit.

Shit.

Another fairy tale quickly came to mind. And that one was the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears flashed through his mind and unluckily for him, he was Goldilocks in the bears’ den.

Oh, fuck.

He had to get out of here _now._

Lance turned, grabbed the water bottle off of the counter and made a dash for it. He ran through the hall, through the living room. He reached for the door, it was so close. He just had to run a little more, had to get the fuck out of here right fuck now-

The door opened.

There stood a man covered in blood.

Lance recoiled violently, tried to turn-

“Get back here, you little fucker!”

Lance screamed as he ran down the hall and into the kitchen.

He pushed the chair back, heard a crash as his assailant came into contact with the chair, stumbled over it.

Lance kept running.

As luck would have it, the man was even more pissed. He dashed, caught Lance around the waist and wasted no time in dropping him with a few well aimed punches.

 

* * *

 

When Lance imagined being tied up, it was more of a sexy thing and less of, ‘is this guy going to murder me?’

This most definitely was not good.

The rope bit into skin, chafed in the worst of ways, and his limbs began to ache from being stuck in the same position for what could have easily been hours for all he knew.

He was not about it at all.

However, as time went on, Lance grew less concerned about the fact that he mostly likely was losing circulation in his arms and legs. He grew more concerned about the bloodied man who had tied him up and what would happen to himself once the fucking creep returned.

Would he be tortured?

Would he have to endure lying there and listening to the sounds of his bones snap?

Would he have to endure lying there and feeling the blood ebb out of his body from all sorts of horrific wounds that were carved into his flesh?

Lance felt extremely lucky that he hadn’t been gagged because otherwise, with his luck and all, he’d suffocate due to his harsh breaths.

It wasn’t looking good for him.

There was a creak.

Lance stilled.

He took a huge gulp of air and attempted to slow his breaths.

His fingers twitched, their tips bright red against his bright skin.

_Creak._

Oh, fuck him.

This was not going to end well.

Look around the room, he thought.

One window at the wall across him. It had a wooden board slapped across the middle, perhaps the beginning of what’d soon be a boarded window. The sun was high in the sky, peeked out between the sea of trees. It looked to be about midday if not earlier.

Okay, now to the left was a door. It was wooden, it’s knob once gold but now appeared dirtied and suspiciously stained.

There were also suspicious dark stains across the floor.

A glance to the right yielded a rickety looking chair.

Great.

There was nothing he could untie himself with. He had hoped for something sharp, but of course that’d be too easy. And if there was thing fate loved, it was fucking over Lance.

_Creak._

Lance took another deep breath and managed to roll onto his side.

It hurt, the rope pulled and bit at his tender skin. But, better he had rope burn and maybe a couple of open wounds, then facing whatever Papa Bear had in store for him.

Lance had only just managed to reach the chair and was trying to formulate a way to somehow snap the ropes when the door opened with a loud creak.

There was the man, or Papa Bear as Lance had dubbed him.

He had skin the color of curdled milk, a scowl, pale eyes, and just about the ugliest teeth Lance had ever seen. They looked as though they had never seen the inside of a dentist’s office. Talk about snaggletooth. Lance had half a mind to call him Count Dracula instead.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to get up, boy.”

Lance swallowed. “Well, it was hard for me to woken up after getting fucking decked.”

Papa Bear narrowed his eyes. “Funny guy? I like funny guys. Tell me a joke.”

“Uh…”

Was this guy serious?

“I’m waiting.”

Apparently, he was.

Lance figured it was in his best interests to tell a joke, so he cleared his throat and said, “What did the buffalo say to his kid before he went off to college?”

“What?”

“Bison.”

Papa Bear did not laugh. “Make anymore noise like you did earlier and I’ll cut something off. Don’t think I won’t.”

Lance nodded, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

 

* * *

 

A zombie had spotted him through the window.

It slammed it’s fists against the glass, mouthed against it, and groaned loudly. It looked desperate, and ravenous.

Lance sighed.

 

 

* * *

 

Lance was hungry.

Starving, really.

Papa Bear came in, holding a sandwich.

He ate it in front of Lance with a sneer.

He peeled a piece of the crust off, tossed it to Lance.

Lance’s stomach growled.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Papa Bear inquired, he was putting up a front- pretending to look so genuinely concerned for Lance. “Eat.”

Lance didn’t move.

“I told you to eat.”

“I can’t move,” Lance said.

“Sure you can. Crawl, wiggle. This is your meal for today. Work for it. You gotta earn it, boy. Nothing in this life is free.”

Lance couldn’t believe this was happening.

There was no way he was desperate enough to fucking wiggle until he reached the food, just to eat a measly crust off of the filthy floor.

Papa Bear shrugged. “It’ll be there for you when you decide to stop bein’ a stubborn little fucker.”

Without further ado, he left. The door rattled as it slammed- it alerted the walker outside. The creature pressed its face against the window in excitement, and snarled.

 

* * *

 

It was sunset when Lance decided to let go of his dignity.

His stomach growled, loud. He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Lance wasn’t good alone, wasn’t good with being left with nothing more than his thoughts to keep him company.

Lance had to more or less wiggle and roll over.

The pain of the ropes biting into him caused Lance to cry out.

_Creak._

Lance stilled, eyes glistened with unshed tears.

The door opened.

“The fuck are you being so loud for?” Papa Bear snapped.

Lance didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak.

“ _Boy-”_

“T-The ropes. They’re, um, t-too tight,” Lance stammered.

Papa Bear walked over.

Hiis heavy footsteps echoed in the gloom of near pitch black room. The darkness was only broken up by the weak streams of moonlight from the window.

And he stopped in front of Lance, his eyes narrowed as he knelt down before him.

“My hands a-are, um, red… I-I c-could l-lose circulation-”

_Smack._

Lance flinched as the pain erupted upon his cheek, Papa Bear’s face devoid of any emotion as he looked to Lance, as if he hadn’t slapped him into next Tuesday.

“Don’t presume to tell me what to do, you little bitch. I’ll fucking loosen the ropes so you’ll just shut the fuck up,” Papa Bear snapped.

He first undid the ropes that bound Lance’s legs, didn’t give him a moment’s rest before he hauled him up. He dragged him across the room, practically tossed him onto the chair.

Lance cried out when his back made contact with the chair.

Papa Bear’s hands were busying untying Lance’s hands, only to tie his wrists to the arms of the chair.

“Try anything and I will fucking murder you. Do I make myself clear?” Papa Bear inquired.

Lance swallowed nervously.

“Crystal,” He replied.

 

* * *

 

 

Papa Bear moved him out of the chair and to the living room, tied him up and gagged him for good measure.

He left in the afternoon, a red axe in his hands.

Keith’s axe.

* * *

 

The day passed slowly, but Lance feared it’s end. Lance feared Papa Bear’s return and what would happen to him upon the man’s arrival.

His stomach growled, ached.

Lance’s hands hurt like a motherfucker, he had to remind himself not to panic because with his shit luck he’d end up suffocating on the gag.

 

* * *

 

The door swung open.

Lance flinched.

It was Keith.

His relief was short lived.

Papa Bear came up behind him, a sadistic grin upon his lips as he looked down at Keith.

_“If it isn’t the boss’ favorite little delivery boy.”_

 

* * *

 

Lance and Keith were thrown into the little room with the rickety chair and boarded window.

Papa Bear removed the gag from Lance, went about tying Keith up, made sure he didn’t have any weapons on him, took everything had. He shoved Keith towards Lance- Keith’s body limply flopped against his. Keith’s head smacked his shoulder.

Lance was so alone.

Lance cried that night.

He cried until dawn’s blue light filled the room and he had no tears left to spill.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith didn’t wake up until the next day, but he was still rather out of it and immediately closed his eyes.

The injury he had sustained to his head was particularly nasty.

Or maybe he was too scared to face the waking world.

Lance’s hands hurt.

Nothing happened that day, aside from another man entering the room to leave a bowl of water and a couple of crackers.

Lance drank the water, saved some of it and a cracker for when Keith would wake up.

Night fell, and Lance cried again.

He hadn’t felt so alone in so long.

It went on like that for the next few days.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith woke up and stayed awake three days later.

“Keith?”

“Lance? You… you okay?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I went into this house here, but- um, there were people already in it. This guy, um, Papa Bear.”

Keith snorted.

“What?”

“You’re calling him Papa Bear?”

“Uh, yeah. Like, I had a Goldilocks moment of horrified realization that I wasn’t alone in here,” Lance retorted.

“My head’s killing me. You got any water?” Keith asked.

“Yeah-”

He had left the bowl by the window.

There wasn’t anymore water.

“No. I’m really s-sorry. I tried to save you some but it evaporated... I didn’t think- fuck. I’m so stupid-”

“Hey.” Keith’s expression softened.

“Hey, Lance? You’re not stupid. Don’t worry about the water. It’s okay.”

Lance nodded, he was about to wipe at his eyes but then he realized his hands were still tied.

“We’ll be okay,” Keith said, his voice soft.

He tried to be reassuring- even if he didn’t necessarily believe it himself, even if he wasn’t sure how to really comfort someone.

Lance looked to him, teary-eyed.

His expression was something vulnerable, so soft and fragile.

Keith felt his chest ache.

He could only imagine what Lance had gone through in the past few days, alone, even. Keith felt a twinge of guilt for every time he had thought of Lance as annoying or nuisance.

It was the opposite.

Lance was a good guy, perhaps one of the very few left- if not the last.

And Keith couldn’t let something horrible happen to him. Who knows what Lance must have done for him in the past couple of days?

Who knows what he had endured?

“We’re going to be okay,” Keith said once more, determination entering his tone.

“How do you know?”

“Because I promise we’ll be okay.”

Lance snorted. “Not really a promise you can keep,” He said, his voice filled with derision.

“I’ll do my best to make sure we’re okay,” Keith replied.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his tone.

It took a bit of maneuvering, but Lance leaned his head against Keith’s shoulder.

Keith wasn’t normally one for touching- especially cuddling, it usually made him uncomfortable.

But, he didn’t mind, surprisingly.

He leaned his head against Lance’s, closed his eyes, and just enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against his.

Just the little touch made him realize how touch starved he had been throughout this whole apocalypse- how lonely he had been.

Lance’s hair was soft against Keith’s cheek, Lance’s slow breaths- so soft, as he slipped into sleep- fell in sync with the thrum of Keith’s heartbeat.

They were going to be okay.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u believe this chapter didn't take me nearly 3 months to post
> 
> tw: homophobic slurs (it's only one and not said by neither lance nor keith), violence, and the usual. Also, there is a scene where Lance bangs on a door repeatedly to the point of injury, so just in case, tw for self harm. lmk down in the comments if there's anything else that you need warned for.
> 
> thanks again for all the feedback! Your comments make my day, bless you all. Also, posting this chap on the go so pls excuse any mistakes.

Lance remained curled up to Keith for a good while.  Or rather Lance remained curled up as best as he could be in this present situation. The ropes still bit into his flesh. Legs cramped up,  neck sore. But, leaning against Keith somehow made it better.

Keith was warm, and Lance no longer shivered as he had done for the past few nights. The rapid cooling temperature a sign of autumn’s arrival, heralded by the leaves beginning their descent from the branches onto the earth awaiting them below.

And on the night Keith let him come close, there were no tears to be had.

Just for a moment, Lance might have felt safe.

Alas, as all good things, it didn’t last. And it fled quicker than he had anticipated.

The safety and warmth they had shared shattered like glass upon the door’s opening and the face of the man who had turned the knob.

Papa Bear entered the room.

Keith froze. His eyes were wide, the color fled from his cheeks.

He jerked.

Then, scrambled to move away with an expression of horror on his face.

“Hi, Keith. Remember me?”

“No, no…” Keith whispered.

Lance looked to Keith. “Uh, hey? Keith? Buddy?”

“Sendak,” He gasped.

Papa Bear- no, Sendak smiled.“It’s me, Delivery Boy. Man, the boss is going to be so pleased. He really missed you. Apparently, Funny Guy here did too. You’re a real likable guy, ain’t you, Keith? I gotta say, I never really took you for fag, but then again.... There were those rumors back at the camp up North-”

Lance would never be able to figure out how, but Keith had managed to struggle to his feet. Purple eyes blazing, and his teeth bared.

He charged.

Lance closed his eyes. Something spoke inside him that he did not wish to see what would ensue. There was a possibility of Keith getting hurt,  and he did not want to see that outcome.

There was a crack, a groan, and lastly- a thump.

Lance winced.

He opened his eyes to find Keith on the floor, wheezing as he both sought and fought to find his breath.

“Still as hot-headed as ever,” Sendak muttered.

His hand moved to Keith’s hair and mumbled, “Gross. This is greasy as fuck,” as his hand ran through the strands-

Keith flinched.

Sendak got a grip on his hair.

And yanked.

One of Keith’s eyes were shut, the other glistened. His arms jerked, as if wanting to break free from the ropes and pry Sendak’s grip on his hair.

“No funny buisness. Try to escape- I take a finger. Try anything- I take a finger. Try twice- that’ll be two fingers. And so on.”

Keith glared. “I don’t give a shit. Go for it.”

“Keith!” Lance cried.

Sendak pulled harder on his hair, Keith cried out.

“No, dumbass,” Sendak said. He paused, lips curled into a malicious smile, “You misunderstood.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Keith gasped.

Sendak’s gaze fell upon Lance.

“I meant his.”

Lance opened his mouth, perhaps to scream or plead for mercy.

Nothing came out.

Not at first, anyways.

Sendak let go of Keith’s hair. “Try something funny- well, your boyfriend won’t have a good time. I can tell you that much.”

Lance started to sob after the door was slammed shut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We have to get out of here,” Keith whispered, voice rising slightly over his grumbling stomach.

Lance nodded, albeit reluctantly.

_“No funny buisness. Try to escape- I take a finger. Try anything- I take a finger. Try twice- that’ll be two fingers. And so on.”_

If he was going to be optimistic, well, at the very least- the ropes were gone.

His hands felt better.

But the memories of the pain had not fled his mind.

There were rope burns across his dark flesh, but the deepest imprint was the one left upon his mind.

“Lance?”

“...Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We gotta get out of here,” Keith said.

“I hear you,” Lance replied.

They were leaned up against the wall, the only light in the room was the weak, pale moonlight that streamed from where the window was not boarded up.

Lance turned his head and closed his eyes.

“Lance?”

“Goodnight.”

And that was that.

 

* * *

 

 

Another sunset, the golden light played on Lance’s bronze skin, made it glow ever so prettily.

Another sunset, the golden light turned Lance’s blue eyes into an almost green color.

Another sunset, the golden light contrasted with dark shadows cast by Lance’s long eyelashes.

Another sunset, Lance stopped smiling.

 

 

* * *

 

Keith already had been lean, but he looked thinner now. It  could be seen in the hollow of his throat, in the way his hands appeared more bony, and his cheekbones had become more prominent.

“He won’t feed you much,” Lance said.

“Yeah. Punishment.”

“How long have we been here?”

Keith had to pause, mull it over.

“I’m not sure. Maybe two weeks? Longer?”

Lance crossed his arms over his chest.

“You okay?” Keith inquired.

Lance nodded. “Just a little chilly.”

“Maybe it’s later than I thought. Could be October by now. Explains the chill in the air. Unless fall came earlier,” Keith said.

Lance didn’t reply, just nodded again.

Keith glanced to Lance. “Never thought I’d see a day where I talked more than you.”

“I think this is, like, the most amount of sentences I’ve ever heard you say,” Lance quipped, his lips quirked into a tiny smile. He was trying to seem okay, even if he felt anything but.

Keith snorted. “Probably is.”

Even as small as the smile might’ve been. It was still such a relief to see Lance look something other than miserable. Not that his feelings weren’t valid- they were in a shitty situation.

It was just heartbreaking to see Lance like this. He remembered his easy going smiles, silly jokes, sharp wit, and quick quips.

“Keith?”

He looked to Lance.

“Yeah?”

“We’re going to be okay?”

It was phrased as a question, Lance’s eyes bore into Keith’s. He was close. Close enough that Keith could see the green and brown flecks  in Lance’s blue eyes. A kaleidoscope.

He was so close.

It reminded Keith of when they were camping in the woods, around the fire when Lance tried to make his move. Leaned in, so cocky- lips puckered, his eyes closed, his skin bathed in the glow of the fire.

 _“What are you doing?” He asked, tersely._  
  
_Keith’s body was rigid, he looked rather startled._  
  
_“Trying to kiss you.”_  
  
_“What? Why?”_  
  
_“The undeniable atmosphere between us,” Lance replied._  
  
_Keith arched an eyebrow. “You don’t like me.”_  
  
_“Eh, you’re not so bad.”_  
  
_“Aren’t you charming?”_  
  
_“I try to be,” Lance said, a smirk at his lips. “So, are you into a make out session with moi? Maybe a little more?”_  
  
_“Not particularly,” Keith replied flatly, his eyes narrowed._  
_  
_ Lance simply shrugged before he moved away.

It had been a strange moment; conflicting.

He pushed Lance away, but a part of him- deep down in the marrow of his bones- wanted the human contact. Craved it, really. Needed it like a man in the desert needed water. Needed it, almost like he needed air.

Keith didn’t want to fuck him. Didn’t think he himself was quite ready for that, yet. Just wanted to feel someone’s fingers on him, soft. Just wanted to feel someone’s lips against him.

Wanted the fire in him ignited, wanted to feel the drag of Lance’s fingers on his skin- and the way it’d leave the scorch of all consuming flames- like he had been burned, but only in the best way.

A part of him had wanted to pull Lance closer instead of pushing him away, Keith realized.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wake up, boy. Breakfast.”

Keith’s eyes opened.

Sendak.

“No.”

“No?”

Keith’s eyes were narrowed, but his gaze softened when he looked to where Lance slept. All curled up, an expression serenity on his face. His legs bent, his arms crossed over his chest- he had likely gotten cold again last night.

It had been cold.

Keith’s concern for him had grown. Lance wasn’t the same Lance he had been when they had met. He was sadder, now. Quieter, too.

Keith was beginning to worry that even if they did escape, the memories of their time here would forever haunt Lance- that he’d forever be changed in the worst of ways, that he’d lose his will to survive.

It hurt to think about, the ache sat deep in his chest.

Keith glanced back to Sendak, jaw clenched in determination as he stared down their captor, neither a drop of fear or hesitance in his voice as he said, “Give it to him.”

“What?” Sendak looked suspicious.

“The food. Give all of it to him. Give him my share,” Keith insisted.

Sendak threw the bread at Keith’s face.

“Fucking romantic bullshit.”

“It’s not romantic! Fuck you!”  
  
“Shut up, bitch.”

“Make me.” Keith said, voice low and dark.

 

* * *

 

When Lance awoke, Keith was nowhere to be seen.

All he saw was nothing more than breakfast, more than his usual share.

The door opened.

Sendak entered the room.

“W-Where… Where’s Keith?” Lance asked, his voice trembled.

He was shaking. His hands quaked near uncontrollably. His lips had exceeded being chapped and bordered on cracked, incredibly dry. His mouth drier, still.

Sendak eyed him, but said nothing.

“Hey!” Lance protested. “I’m talking to you!”

“Don’t worry ‘bout Keith. Worry ‘bout yourself, boy,” Sendak replied.

Lance could feel the anger swelling him, righteous- burning hot. Something  coiled in his gut, the heat twisted in his body. He could kill Sendak now if he so desired. Or at least try.

He wanted to, he realized.

Wanted to beat him with fists until Sendak was nothing more than a bloodied pulp. Wanted to wrap his hands around his throat, squeeze and squeeze until his windpipe was crushed beneath his fingertips.

Wanted him to bleed, to hurt.

Wanted to make him pay for whatever he may have done to Keith in the past, and whatever he’d done now.

Lance stood up.

“I asked you a question, you piece of shit. Where is Keith?” Lance snapped.

Sendak appeared surprised by the sudden shift in Lance. Not days ago, this man had flinched if he had so much as raised his voice.

Then, Sendak did the unexpected.

He smiled.

It was something vicious and something knowing, as if the earth’s secrets were in his mind and Lance had just inquired after them.

“Answer me!” Lance said.

The rage was boiling beneath the surface. The dam broken. He was a volcano, dormant once but now his fury awoken. Or perhaps, reawoken- the rage inside festering like hot magma.

He would get some answers.

“I told you. Don’t worry about Keith. I gotta say, that temper? Could be useful to us.”

Lance couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You think I care about your fucking bullshit group? I don’t give a motherfucking shit! I asked you a question! Where is Keith?” Lance screamed.

Sendak’s lips curled back into that knowing smile.

Lance wanted to wipe it right off of his face.

“See you later, boy. I’ll come get you when I need you.”

The door closed.

Lance immediately tried to open it, turned the knob- only to discover it was locked.

The rage inside him was growing hotter.

He struck the door with his foot.

He did it again, kicked the door over and over. Shouted things like, “Open the fucking door!” and, “You better fucking open this door! I mean it!”

When his feet grew tired, legs too sore to keep kicking- he started to slam his fists against the wood instead.

He screamed, sometimes words and swears in a mixture of English and Spanish. Sometimes, it was just wordless cries of fury and frustration.

Eventually, his vocal chords burned with protest and he no longer screamed.

His energy spent, yet he still banged his fists upon the door. Didn’t care that his knuckles were bloody, the wood smeared with red.

The sun was starting to go down, golden light streaming through the windows and illuminating the room in a soft hue.

“Keith,” Lance whispered.

It was not a cry of fury, nor a demand for him back.

It was a plea.

The rosary still hung around his neck, warm.

“Keith,” He whimpered, and the beginnings of tears stung his eyes.

It was a prayer, a cry for mercy- that Keith was not forever lost. That this was not punishment for the things they had done wrong.

Was this perhaps his perdition?

Walking corpses? Years of solitude? To find someone to possibly befriend after all the years? To think they’ll make it?

And for what?

Perhaps, he had died long ago.

Perhaps this was his perdition.

He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Clutched at the rosary, felt like a helpless little boy all over again. He cried, in the near empty room filled with the sun’s dying light.

_Keith._

_Please._

_Come back to me._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to update- i've had a rough couple of months between school and my personal life. a note: in this fic Lance is Cuban and Colombian- his mother being colombian and his father being cuban. c:
> 
> also: someone had been taking this story and posting it on wattpad without my permission. do NOT do that. Nothing will kill my want to update more than that. Even if you give me credit, do NOT upload my fics anywhere without my permission. It was taken down but if this continues to happen, i will pull eyho off of ao3. I don't want to do that, obviously. so please, don't do that without my permission. If you'd like to post it elsewhere with proper credit or translate it- just shoot me an ask here or on [my blog](https://kl-eatyourheartout.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I don't want to be mean, but it's not right to take people's work and reupload it elsewhere without permission.
> 
> anyways, that aside- i'd like to thank all of you who always comment and continue to show support for this story. Thank you so much. you have no idea what it means to me. i'm going to try to update more often now that i'll be out for the summer soon. thank you all again, i hope the chapter was worth the wait! <3

 

The days since Keith’s disappearance seemed to slowly but surely all blend together. There came a time when Lance realized he hadn’t the slightest clue as to what time it was or what day it was.

Nor did he know how many days had passed in total.

Perhaps, this is what Hell felt like.

No lake of fire, no hanging from a meat hook while the Devil played the fiddle and his demons danced around you, no screams of the damned filling your ears, no searing heat you could feel in your bones.

No, Hell was a deafening silence.

Hell was the blood rushing through your head and the rattle of your breath as  the only sound in your ears.

Hell was being alone with nothing more than your thoughts.

Lance wondered if he would go insane like this.

Probably.

Sometimes, there wasn’t just silence.

Sometimes, there’d be a zombie at the window- it’s putrid breath fogging up the glass as the creature mouthed at it.

Sometimes, in the dead of night- Lance would hear screaming.

He wasn’t sure if it was some sort of sick dream, auditory hallucinations- or worse, that they were real.

The screams were bloodcurdling, had Lance shaking- trying desperately to do anything in order to drown out the noise.

The screams sounded like Keith.

Lance didn’t know how to make it stop. He’d do anything to just make the screams stop. He started crying, his eyes closed tight, and his body trembling.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The last time he ate could have been anywhere from a couple of days to a week for all he knew.

Lance was curled up in the corner of the room, head tilted back as he looked to the ceiling. It was dusty. Of course, it was. Obviously Sendak and his buddies weren’t known for their cleaning skills.

Those fuckers probably didn’t know how to even hold a broom.

There were cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling, pale barely visible strings with sprinklings of dust stretched taut from one side to the next. No spider to be seen.

The webs were homes without residents.

And Lance was a resident without a home.

He missed his home.

Missed the smell of his mother’s cooking- hell, he even missed the smell of his father’s cigarettes.

Lance used to complain about how noisy the house was with all his family members- especially during parties. Or how he’d complain about cleaning before parties.

He would take sweeping, wiping down the counters, the smell of cleaning agents, and Marc Anthony’s music filling the air anytime over the hell in which he now lived.

God, he wanted to cry.

But, there were no tears to be had.

Sometimes, there came a point when you had cried so much, you’ve not any tears to spare.

Lance’s eyes were dry, but his heart bled.

The ache spread, an all encompassing grief that threatened to swallow him whole.

He ruined everything he touched.

Lance wished he never met Keith, if only that Keith would be safe.

Even if they got out of this, he would ensure that they would part ways.

Lance would be alone again.

But, maybe that was for the best.

After all, being alone was safe.

After all, being alone kept other people safe. 

After all, being alone kept his heart from being shattered again and again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance had to be cursed or something.

Everyone he loved, he knew, he met- would always leave him in the end.

What was the point of it all?

Was there even a God? 

Was every prayer he said for nothing? Were they little more than a waste of breath? Were they little more than a waste of thought?

He closed his eyes.

Never had the rosary upon his neck felt so cold before.

His grandma had given it to him after his first communion, it was her gift to him given after she had pulled him aside during the party afterwards.

“Lance.”

“Yes?”

“I am so proud of you. You look so handsome in white. Look at you! _Qué lindo!_ Oh, _mi niño-_  you did so well.”

“Really? Mom was upset because I made a face at the wine.”

“It’s okay, they probably used the cheap stuff-”

 Lance laughed, his grandmother chuckled at his reaction before she slid her purse off of her arm in order to better search through it.

“Cheap wine aside, I have a gift for you, _Papíto_.” She smiled, holding out a little box wrapped into silvery paper.

Lance opened it, anticipating money or something cool.

It was a rosary. 

“Oh, it’s a-”

“Rosary! Yes, do you like it? I got it when I went down to Bogotá to visit your great aunt and her new husband.”

Lance nodded. “I do like it. How’s he liking Colombia?” He asked. He looked up to his grandmother as he slipped the rosary on.

“He loves it, he’s started to pick up on some of slang there and everything. We went to this beautiful museum, it’s my new favorite. I’ve loved to see that place since I was a little girl. The falls around it were so beautiful,  but back then the museum was a hotel before it was closed down and later reopened- so now it’s called the Tequendama Falls Museum. Oh! I have to show you the pictures-” 

And Lance had felt a warmth in him from the fact that his Abuelita had gotten this rosary for him, that she had thought of him. It warmed him to hear the happiness in her voice, the pride in it.

But, that was the past and she was gone.

And the rosary felt so cold against his skin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith sucked in a breath.

The anticipation of pain at this point had grown worse than the pain itself.

Blindfolded, he hadn’t the slightest clue when the next punch or kick would land. Or worse, if the knife would be reintroduce- ready to carve him up as if he were little more than a slab of meat. 

“Keith, Keith. Tsk. I told you to behave.” 

It was Sendak’s voice.

Keith had to catch his breath, his voice trembled as he ground out, “Kiss my fucking ass.”

That earned him a punch to his gut. 

He couldn’t breathe, the air had fled him.

“One more remark, and your boyfriend out there is going to get it.”

“Get what? You won’t do shit. You need him. You need a new worker, you useless pig,” Keith snapped.

It fell quiet.

“What’s wrong, Sendak? Did I hurt your feelings?”

All he got in response was the sound of fading footsteps and the slam of the door.

His blood ran cold.

What had he done?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance found himself stunned as he was led outside.

The day was beautiful. The autumn morning air crisp, the sun a soft warmth, the trees an explosion of colors. Lance found himself surrounded by leaves of orange, red, gold, and brown. It was a warmth he had not encountered in a long time.

He only wished that Keith would be here by his side to experience it with him.

The sky was a soft blue, wisps of clouds adorning it at every angle he saw with the curious turn of his head.

Sendak cut the ropes off of his hands.

“Tell me, boy. How good are you at runnin’?”

Lance glanced to him, swallowed nervously.

“Are you fucking around with me now? Answer me.”

“N-No. Um. I’m a good runner,” Lance stammered, eyes unable to meet his.

Sendak hummed. “If a biter was chasing you? How fast could you go?”

“Well, fast because I don’t to be lunch,” Lance muttered.

It grew silent.

Shit, he probably shouldn’t have had so much bite in his tone. Shouldn’t have been a sarcastic little shit.

Sendak’s eyes were cool as he regarded Lance.

He raised his hand.

Lance flinched, arms raised to cover his face in anticipation of a blow.

It never came.

Sendak laughed.

“Finally got you trained good, boy.”

Anger rose up in Lance, ugly and vicious. It had teeth and wanted to bite, wanted to destroy.

“Nothing to say, Funny Guy?”

Lance took a deep breath.

Breathe.

 Don’t fuck this up.

“Hello? I’m talkin’ to you.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” Lance said. His voice was soft, eyes cast downwards to the grass and his beat up shoes.

“Good,” Sendak replied. 

Lance felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Or rather, he didn’t dare to breathe too harshly.

One small misstep could cost Keith’s life, or even his own.

“Today, you’re goin’ on a little field trip,” Sendak began, his eyes cold as he looked to Lance.

 Lance didn’t reply.

 “You’re gonna head out with a couple of my guys and do a supply run. I heard you’re pretty quick.”  
  
“Keith is faster,” Lance blurted out.

It grew silent.

Sendak eyed Lance.

“Yeah?  Remember when I asked you how fast of a runner you were? This town is swarmin’. So you best be faster than Keith is- unless you want to be lunch,” He said. 

“Keith is going?” Lance inquired.

“Nah. He’s not cleared. Don’t trust him not to fuck off yet. But, you. You’ve got a lot to lose. I think you care a little more about Keith than he does for you.” 

Lance fell quiet.

 “You hear me, boy?”

“Yes.”

“You know, Keith’s not asked for you once.”

Lance stayed quiet, as that particular blow had stung- but he didn’t know why. Why would he care? Why should he care?

“You should watch your back. Keith is a fuckin’ snake. He’d sooner leave you to get eaten by biters, if it meant he could escape them. Especially if was a horde.”

No, Lance wanted to protest. He knew Keith wasn’t like that. They had faced a horde together, split up, and Keith came back for him. Tried to figure out how to drive a car so he could pick him up just before the zombies got hold of him.

But, Lance hesitated.

Keith had left that man at the mall to die. Sure, it was different- that guy was a scum bag, after all.

But, a little voice in Lance asked that he remained cautious.

He didn’t really know Keith, did he?

What if when it came down to it- Keith would leave him for dead?

Lance didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to consider the thought of even being a possibility.

But, he had to.

So, he did think on it.

Lance thought on it long and hard as he walked over to the truck in the front yard, flanked by Sendak’s men. 

The blur of the landscape was something like a Monet painting- smudges of colors, soft in the morning light.

His hands were cold, shaking.

“Boy, before we get there, I’m going to let you know something. You try anything… Keith will get punished. I mean it. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Lance replied.

 The ride into town took close to an hour due to the wreckage littering the roads and the detours that had to be taken. By the time they made it to the town, it was around eleven-thirty, give or take.

Sure enough, there were the dead. They looked gleeful as ever at the sight and sounds of people. Sendak and another man slipped out of the car to deal with the zombies.

They were like animals, Sendak and his men.

Vicious, cruel things. 

They delighted in pain and blood. They delighted in the violent processes it took to achieve either or both of those things.

Dispatching zombies was a game to them. 

“Boom! Headshot!” 

No regard for their own personal safety.

No regard for others safety.

It was all about the rush.

Lance’s fingers twitched.

An ugly little thought flitted in his brain. A little bit of hope bubbled up and rose to his very heart.

His fingers clenched into fists.

He hoped they died.

Lance was done praying, he hoped they’d die. If he couldn’t do it himself, then he’d rather it be a zombie- tearing them apart with hands and teeth. 

His car door opened. 

“You’re up, boy,” Sendak said.

There was a smile at his face.

He held Lance’s bat in his hands, bloodied.

Sendak offered it to Lance, eyeing him cautiously. 

Briefly, Lance thought about taking the bat and bringing it across Sendak’s face. Not once, not twice. Over and over again, until his smiling face was smashed into a bloody pulp.

“Boss, is that really such a good idea-” 

Lance took the bat.

 There was a tense silence, Lance met Sendak’s gaze. It was almost as if he was daring Lance to try. 

Lance took a deep breath.

 Not this time.  Not yet.

Soon, maybe. 

But, he had to find Keith first. Make sure he was alright and get him out of the situation they were stuck in.

Lance got out of the car, slung a backpack over his shoulder and glanced to Sendak. 

“Lance, you and Andy check out the pharmacy.”

Lance nodded, glanced to the man- Andy- that he was partnered up with.  He was a scrawny little thing. His jacket was too big for him, it looked like it was going to swallow him whole. His glasses were round, sort of like Harry Potter’s- they nearly hung off of his nose.

“Got it,” Andy said.

Lance gripped his bat and followed him to the remnants of the pharmacy. The sign was crooked, in danger of falling atop of someone. Most of the window appeared broken, boarded up with wooden planks in place of glass.

They got inside no problem, the door was open.

Once inside, Lance went about grabbing the things on his list.

“Wait. I forgot my radio. Be right back. No funny buisness,” Andy warned.

 “No funny buisness,” Lance agreed.

Andy glared, but turned to stroll up to the door. The door was jammed, Lance realized as Andy tried to pull it open.

 “Hey! It’s locked!” Andy said. 

Lance turned his head to look at the car they had arrived in.

Sendak’s men were getting back into the car. 

“Guys?” Andy’s voice had a panicked tone to it.

 Sendak walked over, expression dark with rage as he stopped before the door. Yikes. He looked like he was contemplating beating Andy to death with just his fists alone.

“You were stealin’, Andy. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Don’t think I didn’t notice you’re a fuckin’ lyin’ piece of shit. Stealin’ from your own. How could you?” Sendak said.

“I didn’t!”

“Liar!”

“I-I had to! Please, please- I’m so sorry. M-my wife is pregnant, I have two kids- one of them’s sick-”

“You think I give a fuck about that? You betrayed us. You know what you gotta do,” Sendak snapped.

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

Sendak’s lips curved into something of a smile. But it was too cruel to be called such a thing.

“We got rules, you know that. You don’t follow them. You get punished. Right?”

“Right,” Andy replied.

“Lance?” 

“Right,” Lance said, a little uncertainty creeping into his tone.

“We’re going to play a little game, you see. Y’all are going to stay here and fight to the death. Tomorrow, we’re going to stop by and pick up the winner. It’s, like, Game of Thrones shit, yeah? Fate decides your innocence or whatever. Win or die.”

“W-Why am I here?” Lance asked. “I thought… I thought this was just a supply run?”

“It is. Fight to the death. Get the supplies. We’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“Why me?” Lance asked, his voice trembling. His hands shook and his eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall.

“You can thank Keith for that,” Sendak said.

Lance stilled, the tears falling. They were cold as they slipped down the slope of his cheeks, his breaths stuttered.

_“You can thank Keith for that.”_

Lance looked destroyed, and so had Andy for a moment- and with another moment's passing…  he appeared absolutely shocked.

“Win or die, boys. See one of y’all tomorrow.”

And with that, Sendak turned his back and left.

It was so quiet; the blood whooshed in Lance’s ears.

There came a soft sound from Andy, his shoulders shaking.

“Are you… Are you crying? H-he wasn't serious, right?” Lance asked. “He… He can’t be. He can’t be s-serious…”

The tears kept coming, his vision was blurred. Lance wiped at his eyes.

The soft noise came from Andy again.

Andy turned around.

He wasn’t crying, Lance realized.

He was _laughing._

“Oh, he was. Serious as a heart attack. He’s given me an opportunity to earn another chance, to be forgiven of all my past crimes- and all I gotta do is kill you for it,” Andy said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again for the long wait- i made the chapter a little longer to make up for it. I hope y'all like it! the usual warnings apply: violence, death, gore, etc. pls excuse any mistakes, i'm posting this in a hurry again, oops. I'll have to go back and do some edits later no doubt- but i just wanted to get this up as soon as possible.
> 
> anyways, i hope you enjoy this chapter!! thank you for all your comments from last chapters, i'll do my best to reply to them as soon as i can, but I've read them all and they were so sweet. thank you for all the support you show this fic.

_“Are you… Are you crying? H-he wasn't serious, right?” Lance asked. “He… He can’t be. He can’t be s-serious…”_  
  
_The tears kept coming, his vision was blurred. Lance wiped at his eyes._  
  
_The soft noise came from Andy again._  
  
_Andy turned around._  
  
_He wasn’t crying, Lance realized._  
  
_He was laughing._  
_  
_ “Oh, he was. Serious as a heart attack. He’s given me an opportunity to earn another chance, to be forgiven of all my past crimes- and all I gotta do is kill you for it,” Andy said.

Lance’s heart seemed to stop.

There was a machete in Andy’s hands.

“We’ll make it quick. I got kids. Just come here. I’ll make it quick. Just lay your head on the counter, close your eyes-”

He inched closer and closer as he spoke, as if approaching a wild animal.

Lance waited until he was nearly an arm’s length away before grabbing some old shampoo bottle off of the shelf and tossing it right at his face.

He didn’t even look to see if it landed as he made a break for it. But, judging by Andy’s exclamation of surprise and the curses that followed, it had done something. Maybe not enough to do damage but enough distraction for an escape.

The pharmacy was of a decent size and Lance was going to hide until he could find a way to make a break for it.

Lance made a dash for the aisles, quickly trying to hide himself from view.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Andy snapped.

Lance made quick work of hiding behind some clothing, slipping in the rack of Men’s t-shirts. He used to do that when he was kid— hide in clothing racks. His mother fucking _hated_ it. It usually earned him the threat of, “I’m going to tell your father how you behaved when we get home”.

Honestly, he would take the wrath of his father any day over this whole ‘fight to the death’ bullshit.

There was a crash.

Lance froze, clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his labored breaths. The other hand gripped at his bat, his grip slipper due to his sweaty palms and shaking hands.

“C’mon. Lance, right? I’ll make it quick. Let’s get it over with,” Andy said.

He was walking right past where Lance was hidden.

Lance had to be smart about this. If he fucked up, it was game over.

Stealth time.

He waited until Andy passed by, back turned to him.

Lance slipped out as slowly and carefully as he could manage, in spite of his nerves shrieking for him to just make a dash for it— fuck, being quiet. He’d be quiet if he was dead.

Lance ignored his fears and was careful not to jostle the clothing too much. He had his baseball bat tight in his hands.

He snuck up on Andy. Just smash his head in, he thought to himself. He had the advantage of surprise. It would just take a single swing.

 _If that wasn’t bad enough, well, there was the fact that there was a loud moan of a zombie. Presumably, because it had heard his fall._  
  
_Lance scrambled his feet, and sure enough, there was one headed his way._  
  
_It snarled; all cloudy eyes, bared teeth, curled fingers, and rotting flesh._  
  
_Lance ran as fast as he could manage in his weakened, waterlogged state._  
  
_All around him, the forest steadily was growing darker, the zombie on his heels sounded as if it was growing closer, and closer._  
_  
_ He turned, and it was on him.

Lance gasped.

Andy turned his head.

Out of sheer panic, Lance kicked at the back of his knee— something he’d seen Keith do to zombies a couple of times. Andy stumbled forward, the machete clattering out of his hand, sliding out of view.

Lance only had to swing and it would be over.

 _“Please, please. Just leave me alone,” Lance sobbed, kicked the zombie again and staggered away in order to try to find something, just something to use to kill it._  
  
_His hands scrabbled along the dirt, found a branch, smacked the zombie with it, but the branch wasn’t thick enough to deliver a killing blow. If anything, the creature more or less grew more frenzied._  
  
_Lance grabbed a rock; it was one so large he had to hold with both hands, big as they were._  
  
_“Please, just go away, leave me alone.”_  
  
_The zombie snarled and reached for him._  
  
_Lance brought the rock down, and nearly gagged at the sound of rock against bone, the loud cracking of it’s skull, the spurt of blood that followed the first blow._  
  
_It only took a few more times of Lance slamming the rock down on the zombie’s temple, for it to go quiet and still. Lance was left with blood splattered across his face and chest, his hands soaked in red._  
_  
There was a ring on the zombie’s finger, the gold glimmering in the low light. There was a necklace around the corpse’s slender throat, the locket had fallen open, exposing the picture of two smiling children._

Why was he thinking of that day in the woods?

It seemed so long ago that he and Keith had first been separated, when he had fallen into the river— that night when he had nothing but the waterlogged clothes on his back.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it,” Andy said.

He had turned to face Lance, glasses askew. His expression was neutral, but there was a quiver in his lips.

Lance couldn’t do it.

“You have kids right? A wife? A baby on the way?” Lance asked.

“Yes,” Andy said, his eyes narrowed.

Lance exhaled shakily.

“I can’t kill you.”

Andy’s eyebrows furrowed.

Lance drew a breath before speaking up. “Why are we going to do this? Try to kill each other? It’s what Sendak wants. We shouldn’t do this—”

“Listen. Are you a fucking idiot or what? Either one of kills the other, or he kills us both.”

Lance’s blood ran cold.

It wasn’t working.

Andy rose to his feet.

There had to be someway to appeal to his humanity. Lance had to at least try. He couldn’t murder someone. He couldn’t. He couldn’t have that blood on his hands. He couldn’t do it.

“Your family— would they want this…?”

“Don’t bring them into this. They know I gotta do what I gotta do to keep them safe. I don’t care about you. I’d kill you, your little boyfriend Keith, and the whole fucking camp if I had to if it meant they were safe,” Andy said.

He reached into his jacket’s pocket.

Narrowly, Lance backed up in time to miss a swing of the knife that Andy had produced from his jacket .

“It doesn’t have to be like this!” Lance shouted.

It sounded like a plea, not of mercy. But for sanity. 

“It does,” Andy replied.

Lance backed up again, flinched and narrowly avoided a swipe meant for his throat.

“Please. It’s what he wants, dude. You can’t-” 

Andy charged.

Lance sidestepped him, watched as he slammed into what might’ve once been a display. The table toppled and Andy nearly went with it.

“It’s gotta be like this, kid. This is the world now. You kill or be killed. That’s how it is!” Andy shouted.

Lance turned and ran.

Dear God, please, he begged within his thoughts. Don’t make me kill him. I don’t want to.

There was a difference between killing a zombie and killing a living, breathing human. 

He thought back to his rules.

 _Rule 1: go for the head._  
_  
You should always go for the head- whether it's zombies, bad people trying to brutally murder you, or animals you're hunting for food. Head= Dead._

But he had never thought he would have to deal with someone actually trying to brutally murder him.  

For no reason, other than because someone ordered him to.

It was fucked up. Just so fucked up. The world was fucked. 

And was it true? That Keith had gotten him into this situation. 

He didn’t want to believe it. Sendak had to be lying.

 Right?

 

….

 

Lance spent the night hiding out in the office of the pharmacy. It was cramped, a mess— papers scattered all over the floor and desk, filing cabinets open, and there was a family photo on the desk that Lance knew he could not afford to look at. Not now. 

He slipped his backpack off and got under the desk, careful not to make any noise as he hid. He got his backpack and opened it. Luckily, there was a water bottle. He took a few sips, but didn’t drink the whole thing. Who knows when he might access to water again? He was also hungry, but he had no means of cracking open the can of beans in his backpack. 

The office door was locked now. Lance had been surprised to find it out open. More surprised that he didn’t find a single zombie inside. He almost expected something to go wrong. It didn’t make sense that this would just pan out, giving him a place to rest. He wasn’t this lucky.

Maybe, this was his lucky break or something. Maybe, for once he could have a reprieve.

Lance fell asleep with an empty belly that night, but it was okay. He had been hungry for a while now. He managed to use his backpack as a pillow and curled up under the desk. He slept okay that night, would’ve slept great if not for the fact that he keep walking up to every bump he heard, fearing that Andy found him.

Daylight came, he realized once he peeked over the desk and saw the light streaming through the little window in the office. And what little peace the light of day had provided him shattered along with the glass in the door. 

Lance didn’t know what it was that broke it. What it was that Andy had thrown. Whether it was a rock or something else. All he did know was to hold back a scream as he ducked back under the desk. He couldn’t risk discovery.

Breathe quietly. Don’t scramble. Don’t bump into anything. Be quiet, he thought to himself. Panic would only get himself killed at this point.

“I know you’re in there.” Andy’s voice was breathless, he was panting with exertion as he spoke.

Lance closed his eyes. He knew he had to do something, knew it deep in the marrow of his bones. His body thrummed with the feeling. He knew he couldn’t wait, it was as good as laying down to die.

 He clasped his hands together and softly whispered, _“Santa María, Madre de Dios,  ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén.”_

Once he finished his prayer, he grabbed his bat, then stood.

There was glass on the floor. 

Andy stuck his arm through the opening, trying to find the knob. 

Lance felt the panic rising, but he suppressed it. He had to. He had to do this. That was Andy’s dominant arm, he was using. He remembered him holding the knife in it.

“Andy. Listen, man. We don’t have to fight. We get Keith, we get your family. We band together. We don’t have to be pawns in whatever sick little game that Sendak’s playing.”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Andy called. Then, with more vigor, tried to find the doorknob. “I’m going to fucking kill you, end of story.”

Sometimes you had to fucked up things to ensure your survival,  Lance realized. And he also realized that there was no bargaining to be had here.

It cut Lance— the shard of glass— as he picked it up. It was huge, jagged. He dropped it, blood welling from the wound, fat drops spilling onto the floor. The second time he managed to pick it up, had to compartmentalize the pain as he quietly padded over to the door.

Andy’s hand just found the doorknob when Lance stabbed the glass shard right into the back of his hand.

Andy screamed, a horrid sound.

Lance jerked it back, ignored the spurt of blood that followed. Even though a small part of him wanted to turn away, disgusted by what he was doing. He jammed it back in as Andy tried to move his hand away and back through the opening. Again, and again. It bled profusely. The hand had a lot of veins, blood vessels.

It wasn’t like the movies.

Andy got his hand through the opening and pulled away from the door. He did this  with some difficulty due to the shard of glass embedded in his hand.

Lance gave him no quarter.

He hated this.

Hands trembling, he opened the door and gripped at his bat with his free one. Once the door was open, he moved to grip his bat with both his hands. Andy tried to lunge at him, but Lance was quicker.

_Crack!_

The sound was sickening, the thunk of the wooden bat as it smashed against Andy’s head. He went down. Lance swallowed, bat ready in case he got up again.

He didn’t. 

Lance didn’t check to see if Andy was dead. It was likely the hit only knocked him out. It would’ve taken a real well placed hit to knock him dead. The kind that Lance hadn’t really calculated. He just reacted.

In all honesty, Lance didn’t want to know if he was dead or not.

He just went about getting supplies. Yeah, he could concentrate on that. It was easy stuff to remember. Necessities. Pills. Medicine. Water. Food. Toiletries.

Don’t think about the jamming the glass in Andy’s hand. 

Pills. Medicine. Water. Food. Toiletries.

He had to get the stuff.

Ignore the pain of his hand throbbing, the cut from the glass throbbing. 

Pills. Medicine. Water. Food. Toiletries.

He had to get out of here.

Supplies, he reminded himself. 

Pills. Medicine. Water. Food. Toiletries.  

There wasn’t much left in the pharmacy. It had been cleaned out before. Any reminding things could have been crushed while he was playing the avoidance game with Andy. 

Pills. Medicine. Water. Food. Toiletries.  

Lance got what he could, hoped for the best. He tried to keep a clear, rational mind— separate himself from the events that had just occurred. For now, at least. He knew he would have to deal with them eventually.

But, not now. Not yet.

If he tried to deal with it now, he’d fall apart.

 

...

 

Sendak and his men came back around in the late afternoon. He unlocked the door, his lips curled in a smirk as his gaze fell onto Lance. 

“You did it, huh? Wow. I didn’t think you had it in you, boy.”

“I’m full of surprises, I guess,” Lance said. 

There was a pause.

“Well, what are you waitin’ for? Show me the body,” Sendak said. 

Lance froze.

“Show me the body,” Sendak repeated. 

“I—”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t killed him. You ain’t going to like what happens to you.”

“I— I don’t know if he’s dead,” Lance admitted.

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I didn’t… I hit him with the bat. He went down. I went to get supplies.” 

Sendak got into Lance’s face. “Take me to the body. Now, boy.” 

So, Lance did as he was bid.

Sendak knelt down, his fingers at Andy’s neck— the pulse point, there.

And then, he spoke.

“He’s still alive.”

Lance did not cry. He did not say anything. His fate was sealed, wasn’t it? Maybe this was how he died. Sendak was going to kill him.

“You got two choices, boy. End it. End him.”

“Or?” 

“I end you both.”

There was no way to win. Two choices, a mockery of free will. Lance had no choices. Andy was right. This was how the world worked now. You have to kill or risk being killed. There was no way to win.

“I’ll do it,” Lance said. His voice was very quiet, small. His hands shook, the bat felt slippery in his grasp. “I’ll kill him.”

He had no choice.

Lance had to do this.

“You really thought you could weasel your way out of this, boy? That I would just do it for you? You were wrong,” Sendak said.

Lance ignored him and swallowed nervously. He had to do this. He drew the bat back, readying for a swing. His whole body trembled. 

“What are you waitin’ for?”

“I—”

Andy opened his eyes. 

He screamed, and tried to scramble away. This attempt was thwarted by Sendak with a swift kick to his ribs, that had him coughing.  Andy didn’t have his glasses.  All he could see was blurry shapes probably. He must’ve been terrified.

Don’t think about it, Lance told himself.

He had to do this. 

He had no choice. 

Andy raised his hands up to cover his face.

Lance closed his eyes as he swung. 

_Thunk._

The sound nearly made him sick.

Lance opened his eyes. 

Andy was crying.

Begging. 

“Please, Please. My kids, my wife— They need me—" 

Don't think about it.

Lance swung again.

This time, Andy’s arms fell away, and once he was unguarded— Lance smashed him in the face with a bat. 

It was ugly.

Red, red everywhere. 

Another swing.

Teeth rolled onto the floor, like discarded change. Penny for your thoughts, his sister used to say that a lot. It was her favorite saying.

Lance swung again.

_Thunk._

He had to stop, Lance had to stop— he couldn’t see. He had to wipe his eyes. He couldn’t see through the blur of his tears. This was so fucked up. It was all so fucked up. 

“Come on, boy." 

Lance looked to Sendak.

“You gotta finish the job, boy. I mean, look at him. It’s cruel to leave him like that, don’t you think?” Sendak’s voice was filled with mock concern. His voice soft, it was almost like baby talk. The way Lance used to talk to his little nieces and nephews, his little siblings. It made him sick. He had to look away—

Lance looked down at his handiwork and at the sight, he nearly heaved. Red, red. Bruises forming rapidly. Andy’s eye socket was all fucked up. It was disgusting.  Lance couldn’t breathe. He had done that.

He had done that.  

“Kill him now, boy.”

Lance swung, and swung, and swung.

He lost count of how many times he did it. His face was soaked. He didn’t know with what. Blood? Tears? Both. It was so fucked up. He was doing this. He had no choice. But, God, he wanted to stop.

Lance paused to take a breath. Or he tried to. He couldn’t breathe. He was crying too hard. It was so horrible. Blood everywhere.

“Do it, boy. A few more swings should do it. The skull can be hard to crack.”

Lance sobbed.

His hands were wet— with sweat, tears. Maybe, blood, too. He didn’t want to look. He merely swung again. He didn’t stop until there was hardly anything left of Andy’s face. Just red, just shattered bone, and tissue.

It was over. 

Lance cried again.

He felt disgusting, so filthy. What he had just done…

His sank to his knees. The bat fell from his hand with a thump. It rolled, but Lance didn’t follow its movement with his eyes. He could only stare ahead. He had just killed someone, a human being. It was fucked up. He had no choice, but he did it. He did it.

Hands trembling, he ran them through his hair. Lance tried to breathe, felt like he was going to pass out. But, all he could do was cry. He might have thought about how his dad might call him some names, telling him that a real man shouldn’t cry. But, all he could think about was how his mother would recoil.

How she would cry if she knew that her sweet little boy grew up to be a murderer. How she would cry if she knew he bashed a man’s head in while wearing the rosary his Abuelita had placed around his neck.

“God forgive me,” Lance sobbed.

Sendak laughed.

His voice was almost a distant sound, but Lance heard his words all the same. There was a smile in his voice as he said, “Didn’t you get the memo, boy? There ain’t no God.” 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi y'all!!! sorry for the wait around this chapter, life has gone from like 0 to 1000000 for me lately. i've had a lot going on and so writing was kind of hard. thanks so much for all the sweet comments you've left me!! I'm sorry i can't reply to all of them at the present moment but know i appreciate everyone of them! thank you for 900+ kudos!!!! it's so amazing, tysm ahhh <3
> 
> this also has like minimal editing and i'll def go back and fix it later, so just pardon any mistakes im running on v little sleep and posting on the go lmao. however, hopefully, i'll be able to update again this month, or at least by the next one. thank you again for all your patience. <3 :D
> 
> there are a couple warnings: flashbacks, talk of vomit, guilt, mention of gore and death. it's not nearly as bad as in the last chapter tho. the last scene is something i've been super excited for!!! it's one of the first scenes i envisioned for this fic. i hope y'all will enjoy it!!

Lance didn’t remember much about the ride home. Hell, he didn’t even remember getting into the car. All he knew was one minute, he was crying on the floor next to Andy’s body. The next, he was in the car, his head leaned against the window. His eyes followed the blur of the landscape as they drove back to the cabin. Or tried, at least. It was hard to concentrate.

He felt filthy. Disgusting. His tears had dried, but he was shaking. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the remnants of Andy’s face— bashed in, red on the floor. The way his teeth had rolled onto the floor, like change falling from a pocket.

_Penny for your thoughts._

He gagged.

“Hey!” Sendak shouted.

Lance closed his eyes, hands clamped over his mouth. The teeth. Andy’s eye socket. The pool of blood. The sound his bat made as it rolled away. The teeth clattering on the floor. He gagged again.

“I swear to fuckin’ high heaven, boy. If you puke in my car, I’ll fucking make you eat it.”

God, Lance nearly lost it then and there. But, he held it in. Deep breaths. He kept his eyes closed, too. He didn’t want to see anything right now. Didn’t want to exist. Sendak was right. There was no Big Guy Upstairs. If there was, it meant he let this happen to Lance. He let everything happen— zombies and all. And, to Lance, that was scarier than Him not existing.

Once they reached the house, Lance got thrown the fuck back into the room. He didn’t even fight it. Why try? What was the point? He’d just end up like Andy, after all— nothing more than a body with a puddle where his head once was.

He gagged again. God, help him. His body felt alive with the feeling of shame. His skin crawled. Lance felt dirty. Like everyone who looked at him would know what he had done, the kind of person he was now. Kill or be killed. He killed. God, help him.

Except, He hadn’t before. Never, even after all the times Lance asked. Begged, even. Lance was taught that if he was a good man, he could be forgiven so long as he did his best and repented whenever he had done wrong.

He was so sorry that it went beyond words. It was a feeling that surged up within him, like the crest of a wave. Lance went to his knees that night, hands clasped so tight his knuckles paled, he cried, he shook, whispered all the prayers he knew in both English and Spanish, and begged for absolution.

As if a sign of his current situation, his rosary broke as he worked through the prayers bead by bead. The little wooden beads rolled onto the floor. While, the remnants of the necklace stayed around his neck, nothing left but a few beads and frayed string.

_“Didn’t you get the memo, boy? There ain’t no God.”_

Sendak must’ve been right.

“I’m sorry, Abuelita,” Lance said, to the empty room.

Maybe, she could hear him. Or not. Either way, Lance had a healthy respect and fear for the dead. His eyes burned. He wished he could cry over the loss of his rosary, the last connection he had with his Abuelita. But, he had no tears left to spill.

Lance left the beads where they lay, closed his eyes, and allow sleep to take him. Better to avoid the pain that the light of day would bring him for as long as he could, than to lie there in silence for it.

 

* * *

 

 

Days passed in a blur and as fast as the blink of an eye. Lance became a creature of habit. He also became little more than a being whose sole existence depended upon his routine. Lance woke up, ate breakfast, did whatever Sendak asked of him.

It was best not to give those things too much thought.

He did supply runs, at first. Just in and out of places, grabbing food, medication, and the like. That was easy. In and out. Get what you need, get what you can. Lance didn’t give too much thought, didn’t want to. His sanity was barely hanging by a thread.

The next thing Sendak had him do was worse. So much worse.

Lance had morals, you see. Well, has. Present tense. He has morals. Lance had a certain set of values and he believed that stealing from other people was wrong. But, Sendak had something worse had in mind.

Robbing people.

Lance had to do it. Hated every single second of it. It had been on a trip with the other guys. Two of the henchman, Sendak, and himself. They had been cleaning out an old convenience store when a man had stumbled in on them. He had two little kids with him.

“I— I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there. We’ll be taking our leave now,” the man said, his voice sure and strong even as his hands quaked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance said.

Sendak’s men hadn’t noticed.

“Run,” Lance said, his voice little more than a whisper.

The man nodded. He heeded Lance’s advice. But, in the end, it did nothing more to change their situation. One of Sendak’s men looked up.

“Hey!”

Lance had to take their stuff. He was under orders. He had to rob this poor, little family. He wished he didn’t have to. He wished he could’ve run away and never returned. Instead, he had to comply.

The man with the kids didn’t get the chance to run. They were robbed. His children watched. The little boy cried. The little girl looked at them with cold, vacant eyes— like that of a soldier who had been at war for far too long. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream. She just complied with handing over her things.

“ _Malparido_ ,” She said to Lance as he took her backpack.

He stilled.

“What?” Lance asked.

The girl just regarded him with her dark eyes. There was pure hatred with their depths. Never had Lance seen brown eyes look so cold.

“I am so sorry,” Lance said, in Spanish.

She kept her stare fixed on him, pure hatred in her expression. She held her brother’s hand as he cried. She held her father’s hand as he looked away in shame for not being to protect his family.

When the group of Sendak’s men geared up to leave, Lance was the last to go. He dropped a can of food and bottle of pills. It wasn’t much but it was something. He gave a final glance back to the family. But, they did not look at him.

Lance wondered then if this is what it meant to become a monster. A slow descent into this madness, the sunlight at the top of the tunnel steadily fading away as he fell further. All monsters were created, not born. After all, the Devil was once God’s greatest and most beautiful angels. Before he fell.

Lance was on the descent.

He fell, fell, and fell.

There was perhaps no way to rise up from here. The only way was down. Lance closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. He opened his eyes, but the sun had set. So, there really was nothing to see in his room.

Perhaps, his eyes would adjust to the darkness one day.

 

* * *

 

Keith awoke to find himself in a bed. He had no clue how long he’d been out. A glance down showed that his wounds had been bandaged and well cared for. But, still they ached and he was sore from what was no doubt laying there in the same position— he supposed that was to be expected.

There was a boarded up window, a table with a glass of water by his side, but the room was otherwise empty. Why was he going from being brutally tortured to being cared for? What the fuck was happening? It made no sense.

A part of him wondered what was currently happening in the outside world. What were Sendak and his cronies up to? What did he need Lance for?

It wasn’t hard to admit that he was worried about Lance. Keith knew Lance had morals. He could only imagine what Sendak might have him do. How it’d fuck with Lance’s head. If he had gotten upset with Keith for what he’d done back at the mall and in the forest— well, Keith could scarcely begin to imagine how he’d react to the orders Sendak might give.

Keith had seen the extent of his cruelty firsthand. He’d seen worse yet, from the men he commanded. The end of the world brought out the cruelty from them, the dark things within the psyche were allowed to see and step out into the light of day.

He didn’t like to think about it, but Keith had experienced their cruelty firsthand. The thoughts brought forth violent revulsion, bile in this throat, so he had to stop. Had to think of something else.

It only worried him if the same thing might happen to Lance. He’d kill them if they laid a single finger on him. They’d already hit him and he was damn well pissed about that, but whatever God or Supreme Celestial Being there may be help him if they hurt him anymore.

For fuck’s sake, Keith didn’t even know if Lance considered him a friend— but something in him felt protective over him.

 

* * *

 

 

It was around the evening that the door to Lance’s room opened with a creak, the hinges that no doubt once gleamed were now rusted over. With the door opening, came the sight of Sendak slipping into the room.

Lance couldn’t really find it in himself to even react. What was there to do? What was there to say? He just met Sendak’s gaze and awaited whatever cruel, disturbing, or disgusting task he would be assigned.

“Boy, you’ve been workin’ hard, lately. And you’ve been doing good,” Sendak said.

Unsure of what to say, Lance remained quiet.

“That was a compliment, boy. Don’t fuck up my mood.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you for the compliment,” Lance said, his voice quiet.

Sendak merely grunted in acknowledgement of the thanks he’d all but demanded. “Anyways, since you’ve worked hard— I think you deserve a reward. Hard work deserves a reward, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” Lance said. Truth be told, he was rather afraid of what a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ reply to that question might earn him.

“You’re right, boy.”

It grew quiet for a moment. The atmosphere so damn uncomfortable it felt downright stifling. Lance almost felt as if he were choking on it. He was afraid to even breathe too harshly.

“You not going to ask about it?” Sendak asked.

“What is it?”

“A surprise, “ Sendak said. “Get up.”

Lance did as he was bid, rising on unsteady legs. Once he did, Sendak grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the room. He led him down the hall, up the stairs, down another hall until they stopped before a door. Sendak opened it, before shoving Lance inside.

Once inside, Lance realized it was a bathroom. The shower worked, that he knew from hearing it turn on and off at all times of the day. How it actually worked, Lance hadn’t the slightest clue. A glance to the sink yielded the sight of clothes. Clean. One might even venture enough to describe them as fresh. They seemed to be his size, or at least close enough.

Although he was skeptical, Lance got into the shower. Whatever Sendak had planned, Lance wasn’t going to let the chance to shower pass him by. Unfortunately, the water was freezing. But it felt nice, in a way.

Keith liked cold showers, Lance remembered. That conversation seemed so long ago— as if it had occurred years and years ago. It may as well have. Lance was a different person now. He felt old. Much older beyond his twenty years of age.

Once he finished his shower, he dried off with a towel hanging on the towel rack. It didn’t feel soft, not like how his Abuelita’s towels had felt— hers were so soft. Fluffy, even. It used to be one of his favorite things about staying at her place.

Once dry, he dressed in the clothing left for him. It was… formal, strangely. A white dress shirt, black slacks, white socks, even suspenders of all things. They were a striking hue of blue, like cerulean.

After he was dressed, Lance looked to himself in the mirror.

He’d lost a lot of the remaining baby fat to his face, especially in his cheeks. His features were sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. As were his eye bags. They were dreadful. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. His hair was messy, longer than it had been in years. His bangs were falling past his eyes now.

How much time had passed?

Hell, Lance couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen a mirror.

His lips were chapped too, dry, and cracked. The steadily cooling air had not been kind to them. When he raised his hand to touch them, the scarring from when he’d grabbed the glass caught his attention. The wound was fading into angry red lines that’d soon enough turn pink, before turning white against his dark skin.

A knock came.

“You ready, boy?”

Lance took a deep breath, uncertain and afraid of what may occur next.

“Yes,” He said, his voice steady.

The door opened. Sendak looked him over. “Snazzy,” He said.

“Thanks, I think,” Lance said.

Sendak didn’t reply, just turned with a motion to follow him. So, Lance did. It wasn’t like he really got a say in the matter, anyways. The walk seemed shorter this time, even though he was led down stairs, down a couple of hallways, then to the basement.

A feeling of dread pooled with Lance’s stomach but he could not find it in himself to disobey, to attempt escape. He was more afraid of the consequences of that, than whatever lay in wait for him within the basement.

The basement had lighting provided by candles, it made it seem warm. Inviting, almost. Lance was led to a room tucked away within the basement. In the center was a table, covered with what seemed to be a blanket in substitution of a table cloth. There was food on the table, flowers in a vase, there were two chairs, and of the two chairs, one was occupied.

Keith.

“I thought you’d like to spend time with your boyfriend as a reward,” Sendak said.

Lance stilled.

Sendak looked at him expectantly.

“Thank…. Thank you,” Lance stammered, but Sendak waved his hand in a ‘forget about it’ sort of motion.

“Enjoy. Remember, hard work is rewarded,” Sendak said and with that, left.

Keith’s hair was a little longer. He was paler than before and he wore a black turtleneck sweater that made him look paler still. His eyes dark, his eye bags were worse than before, his cheekbones and the hollow of his throat prominent in a way that only starvation could make them so.

“Hey,” Keith said, his voice hoarse— as if he hadn’t used it in a while.

“Hey,” Lance replied. He walked towards the table, then sat down. In a low voice he whispered, “What the fuck is happening?”

Stranger still, Keith looked at him, then said in fluent Spanish, “Careful. We’re being watched.”

“You speak Spanish?” Lance cried.

“Hey. Speak in Spanish!” Keith hissed. “We’re being watched. None of his buddies speak it. Trust me.”

Lance nodded, then switched over from English. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you pretend not to know?”

Keith shrugged, and continued on in Spanish, “It wasn’t important—"

"Yes, it is!"

"Ugh, okay, sorry. Besides, we speak pretty different dialects. You’re Cuban and Colombian, right?” It was so weird. His Spanish was actually pretty good, even though it sounded more like the Spanish you'd learn in school then what Lance spoke.

“Yes. Are— Are you Latinx?”

“I think my mom was. I don’t really know.” Before Lance could ask what he meant, Keith continued on, “I learned most of my Spanish at school. So, all I really know is Castilian Spanish. I was studying languages in college because I wanted to be a translator. So, I could kind of understand you. But, dialect differences and I’m shy when it comes to speaking in my target language around native speakers.”

“Oh… That’s why you’re saying the ‘th’. I thought—“

“What about it?”

"Man, I thought you had a lisp I hadn’t noticed before,” Lance said.

Keith snorted and for a moment, appeared lighter. But, it faded with a flicker of a candle. “I hope you know Sendak is only doing this so you’ll owe him. Nothing he gives you is free.”

Lance nodded. “I figured.”

Keith’s lip had a cut, looked like it had been split. It was healing but was going to scar, for sure. It was a nasty wound, or at least— it had been. It made Lance wonder how else Keith had been hurt, if he'd be okay. If he was hiding it from him. Lance was honestly worried.

“We need to escape,” Keith said, interrupting Lance's thoughts. “And here’s how we’ll do it.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actual footage of me realizing I haven't updated since fucking august:
> 
>  
> 
> hgajksdhfgjkj i cannot apologize enough. life's been super hard and stressful for me lately- like just stuff with school and personal life. it's been a lot. so, thank you to all of y'all for being so understanding and kind about this, even tho i take 5ever to update. I hope this chapter makes up for it. I hope you all enjoy it!! i'll go back any edit any mistakes later, i'm posting this on the go bc i just wanted to get this up quick so people could read it. 
> 
> and thank you for 1,000 kudos!!!!!! this is so amazing, i've never had a work of mine get so many kudos kajlsdkhfj. thank u!!! I'll do my best try to update by January, because of the holidays i may not be able to update this month again. thank you again for all your support, i wouldn't have continued this fic without all your kudos and sweet and funny comments. i may not reply to all of them but i read and appreciate them all. thank y'all so much. <3
> 
> the usual trigger warnings apply: violence, gore, dissociation, etc. there are also implications of past sexual assault towards the end, so if that upsets or triggers you- you may want to skip it.

Maybe it was Lance’s nerves getting the best of him, but he couldn’t shake this feeling of anxiety that threatened to consume him. He’d run over every detail in his mind. The plan was going to be difficult to execute, this Lance knew.  In the end, however, it was something that had to be done. Deep within the marrow of his bones, Lance knew he and Keith needed to escape— knew it had to be sooner, rather than later. The longer they stayed here, the longer their chances of being killed grew.

Lance saw Keith a second time after their dinner together. Unfortunately, this time was shorter, it’s briefness felt deep within Lance’s chest. Lonely. God help him, he was so fucking  _ lonely _ .

It felt as if there was a weight on his chest and he was helpless, breathless as he tried to deal with this overwhelming loneliness.

Lance clung to the memory of the last time he’d seen Keith. It was still so clear. Crystal, really. Keith, outside, with the autumn leaves drifting and the setting sun painting him in golden hues. Their eyes met. Keith’s lips twitched. It almost looked like a smile.

 

* * *

Keith’s fingers twitched as he sat before Sendak.

“So, let’s talk. You see, I know you’re a valuable worker.”

Sun filtered through the window, but it was too weak to do anything about the chill in the air. Keith wore a jacket, some warm pants, but only had thin socks for his feet. His toes felt as if they were freezing.

“But, how do I know— if I let you out for supply runs and the like, you won’t just escape?”

Keith shrugged.

“A real question, boy. Why should I start letting you out?”

“You said I was valuable. I’m no value to you, lying around and slowly freezing to death.”

Sendak hummed.

“Trust—”

“I don’t trust you. Never did,” Sendak said, “You ran off. Killed my men. The only reason you haven’t been executed is because you're much more valuable to me, to the group alive than dead.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “You know why I left.”

“You got a problem with someone, you settle it like a man. You don’t run off, like a bitch with her tail tucked between her legs.”

His fingers curled into a fist. Keith had to keep from saying anything.

“Got it?” Sendak’s smile looked more akin to baring teeth.

“Got it,” Keith spit out between gritted teeth.

Sendak’s eyes bore into Keith’s, those pale eyes of his so unsettling. “So, why should I trust you?” He asked.

The silence dragged on, until Keith realized that he truly had to give an answer. He took a deep breath, steeled his resolve. “Because,” Keith said, “I can make it worth your while.”

“I’m listening,” Sendak said.

Keith had him exactly where he wanted him. He parted his lips, before he told him his proposition.

 

* * *

Lance couldn’t breathe. Or rather, he couldn’t get enough air. His breaths came in rapid succession, in and out. From his mouth came a horrible wheezing noise as he breathed. He couldn’t move, frozen in both shock and fear.

His name was being called but as if from far away. It sounded, well, weird. Distorted. As if he were underwater.

There were footsteps coming his way, his name called again, but Lance couldn’t look up. He couldn’t do anything. His body felt as if it were locked up, frozen in time.

“Hey. Lance.”

Hands on his face. Lance flinched, tried to scramble away.

“Lance! Lance!”

Eyes, so strange a hue— violet. Hands on his face, soft. Gentle. The gesture almost tender in a way. Lance looked, then. Really looked.

Keith.

“Lance, dude? What’s….”

He couldn’t speak, felt like his mouth was sewn shut. He parted his lips, sucked in a breath, tried to talk— but, a sob came out instead.

“Please, Lance. Talk to me.”

A bang brought him back, it took him a moment to realize it was the door slamming shut. The wooden floorboards dug into his knees and palms. Keith said his name again, hushed and soft. The way he said it was intimate, almost— like a lover’s whisper.

Lance tried to speak again.

“Dead,” he said.

“What?” Keith asked.

“I— I traveled here, to this coast with a family on a boat. We were on an island off of the coast. We got separated. Oh, God, I thought they were dead. But, they weren’t and now—”

Red, red, red. He was back there. Saw the flashes of blood spilling across concrete, gore strewn along it. Dark red against gray. The sounds of screaming filling the air, of sobbing, and all Lance could do was look. Though, he wanted little more than to turn away.

A family, they’d once been, now shattered like glass across tile. The mother, holding her children close as she begged in between sobs for them to keep looking at the wall. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “please don’t look, please don’t look—”

Lance wanted to vomit, wanted to cry, wanted to curse God for what he’d had allowed to happen. In the end, he just stared. What could be said? What could be done? Blood was staining his shoes, the floor sticky. It didn’t feel real. He didn’t feel real.

A soft noise came from where the children’s father lay. God, this was so sick. So fucked up. Somehow, he was still alive. How, Lance would never know. Perhaps, the resilience of the human spirit. Or just bad luck. He’d never know. Lance never wanted to know.

“Please.” The mother’s voice came, her English broken and accent thicker with her tears. She was looking at Lance, said his name softly. This snapped him out of his… trance, maybe. He wasn’t sure what you’d call that. He just felt so numb. Like, he wasn’t quite in his body— everything felt so out of place.

“He… he is suffering,” The mother said. She looked to the bat in Lance’s hands, the expressions on her face hard to read. If he had to hazard a guess, he’d say they were something akin to grief and resignation.

No. No, was all he could think when he realized what she asked of him. His voice shook as he spoke, “I— oh, no. I can’t—”

“Please,” She begged. He’d never heard anyone sound so broken, never heard someone plead like that. “Please.”

Lance nodded, his lips trembling as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He’d lived with this family, the father had always been so kind to him, and he’d seemed a good father and husband as well— attentive, loving, and kind.

“I’m — I’m so sorry,” Lance said. It was all he could say. He turned away from the remainders of the family, gripped his bat, and did what had to be done. The blood splattered as he brought the bat down, it wet his face and mingled with tears as they spilled down his cheeks.

“Hey! Lance!” Keith’s voice was insistent. His eyes bore into Lance’s. “Look at me.”

Lance did.

“It’s not your fault…. You did a good thing, he didn’t suffer anymore because of you.”

“He might’ve… He might’ve recovered…” Lance said this, even though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it himself.

“No,” Keith said, his voice gentle. “He wouldn’t have.”

All Lance could do was nod, before the waterworks came.  Keith didn’t say anymore. He probably had nothing to say. His hand rested on Lance’s shoulder, a gentle weight. He squeezed it, a reassurance— the only one he could give.

“I put him down in front of his wife and kids,” Lance sobbed.

Keith’s eyes grew dark, some unreadable emotion in them. He didn’t say anything. His hand moved away, for a moment Lance thought he was going to push him away. Keith, ever the wild card, did the unexpected.

He hugged Lance. It hurt, almost— the way Keith hugged him so tight. “It sucks, dude. I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to say.”

“This is enough,” Lance said. And it was.

Keith hugged him a little tighter for a minute and Lance let his eyes close. Let himself just feel, ignored the images that flowed in his mind of red, red, and tears— and he just focused on how the warmth of Keith felt against him.

 

* * *

 

Change is hard, adjusting to changes is even harder. But, as with everything, in time one could adjust. Killing still wasn’t easy, but Lance found it was an easier pill to swallow. Now, he’d go outside himself. It was as if this was happening to another person. Not to him, someone else doing these horrible things.

It was better to be numb than to fall apart, even if the latter was always and eventually inevitable. He could delay the tears for longer times now. It wasn’t good, wasn’t a way to live. But, it was a way to survive.

 

* * *

There was a supply run today. Sendak barked orders as the men scrambled to get ready, scrambled to fall in line. The backdoor of the house opened and out in the weak autumn sunlight illuminated the person as they stepped into the yard— Keith.

He was dressed in all black, save for the red scarf wrapped around his neck. He wore a leather jacket; his hair was shorter— it rested at the nape of his neck. His eyes were tired, but they lit up a little upon seeing Lance.

“Hey,” Keith said.

“Hey,” Lance replied. “You’re going on this run?”

Keith nodded, there was a slight twitch at his lips. “I thought that’d be a little, well, evident...  _ Catherine Obvious _ .”

Lance couldn’t help the smile at his lips nor the little laugh that left him. “You still remember that?”

“Yeah, I thought it might make you laugh. And it was only, like, a few months ago,” Keith said. His cheeks were flushed from the autumn air and unforgiving winds.

“Feels so long ago,” Lance said.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed.

They fell into a silence. It wasn’t bad, though. It was almost… comfortable. Lance looked up, met Keith’s eyes, and couldn’t tear them away. They were so strange, kind of pretty when he thought about—  they were violet, he’d never seen eyes like that before, not in person. They were like Elizabeth Taylor’s, sort of.

Keith’s lips parted, the look on his face made it seem like he was going to say something. But, before he could get the chance, Sendak spoke up.

“Boys, let’s go. Be mushy and shit on your own time.”

The pickup truck was full as all hell, so Keith and Lance were in the back— sitting in the truck bed. Keith sat next to him on the drive, side to side, so close their thighs touched.

Earlier in the day, just before they set off, Sendak had walked towards the back. He leaned against the side, looking to the pair. Sendak had smiled as he looked to two of them. “Don’t try and go escaping now.”

Keith snorted. “Why would we—”

“Just a warning. We’re headed into biter infested territory. I’m leaving your weapons with you in case they try to hop in or take a bite.”

Lance paled. “Don’t the other pickup trucks have a cage over the truck bed?”

“You see one here?”

Lance shook his head.

“There’s your answer. There ain’t one on this old girl. But, you boys are resourceful. You’ll be fine. If not, there’s plenty of more people who would love your position,” Sendak said. A smile at his lips as he gave the truck a thump, before getting into the passenger’s seat.

To say the ensuing ride was nerve wracking was putting it mildly. Keith and Lance had to duck down every time they saw a zombie, hope they weren’t spotted, and wait until the growls died down or the truck went faster.

Once they had stopped, a couple of men were stationed to watch Keith and Lance whilst the others went ahead for gas. This supply run seemed to be taking forever. It seemed as if hours had passed. The two men supposed to be watching them also seemed useless, or perhaps didn’t care.

A zombie had gone straight for Keith and Lance. Keith dispatched it with little trouble, but the kill had been messy and disgusting. The zombie had been bloated, from being submerged in water, perhaps. At any rate, it more or less exploded all over Keith and Lance as Keith swung his axe once, twice, before sinking into its skull.

There came a low whistle from one of the them. The other left, but the man that had whistled started making his way over.

Keith paled at the sight of him.

“Remember me, Keith?”

“Oh, of course.” Keith’s hand was curled into a fist.

Lance looked to the man, then to Keith.

“You hungry or anything? I’ll trade you something— food, water, or even another weapon. Do me a favor in return, like old times.”

Lance didn’t like this sound of this. Didn’t like the predatory look in the man’s eyes. His feelings on the situation grew worse, when Keith’s expression changed.

A flirtatious smile at his lips, his features soft. “Yeah, sure. Hey, baby,” Keith said. He turned to glance to Lance. That was when Lance realized Keith was talking to him. Right. They were pretend boyfriends.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Keith asked.

Keith wanted him to play along.

“Go for it,” Lance said. He tried to keep his voice even.

Keith turned to the man, bit his lip, and accepted his hand to help him out of the truck. Lance didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to know what happened next.

“You’re shaking,” the man said.

“I’m just so excited,” Keith replied. “It’s been a while.”

A chuckle came from the man. He called Lance’s name. “Keep watch?” He asked. “Your boyfriend and I are going to be a bit busy.”

Lance smiled, even as he felt disgust roll through him. “Sure,” He said. He got out of the truck, his bat in hand. A part of him really wanted to smash the guy’s face in. Keith looked anxious, but like he was trying to hide it.

They’d moved towards the side of the truck. Keith went to his knees. The man exhaled. There came the sound of a zipper being undone, fabric shifting. Lance felt vaguely nauseous. But, he jumped at the sound he’d heard next. A blood curdling scream.

The man was bent over, howling with pain as Keith got to his feet. The man’s hands covered his groin as he fell to his knees. His hands were bloody.

“You—You stabbed me in the dick!” The man howled.

Keith waited until he fell, before he retrieved the knife handle poking out between the man’s hands. The man let out another horrifying scream. Keith didn’t even flinch.

“You will never touch me again,” Keith said, his voice low. He looked to Lance, his eyes dark. Unreadable. “Let’s go.”

“Keith! You—! You shouldn’t have done that!”

“Why the fuck not?”

Lance groaned and resisted the urge to tear at his own hair. “ Are you kidding me? Sendak will be coming back— he probably heard—!”

“I know!” Keith said, eyes burning. He was still covered in the blood of the zombie from earlier. “That’s why we gotta go, now!”

“What about the plan?”

“Fuck it! We have a chance to go now!”

Lance heard the sound of another man approaching— Oh, shit. It was one of them, one of the group. He’d heard the screaming, no doubt. Even now, the man Keith had stabbed still wailed. It began to attract the attention of zombies from all around. They came from the opposite side of the forest, from the way the car had driven from.

“Hey!”

“Run,” Keith said.

Lance did exactly that. He followed Keith as they made a break for the tree line, opposite of where the zombies were spilling out from. The man’s screams went on, until they faded and were replaced by the sound of the hungry dead, delighted in having found their next meal.

 

* * *

 

Sendak watched as one of his men came rushing over. What his name? Roger? Rick? Richard? Ricardo? The fuck if he knew. He was covered in biter gore, and pale as a ghost. The man gave his report, voice trembling. Sendak made him pause halfway through.

“Did you just say he stabbed him in the dick?”

“Yes, sir. I saw the whole thing while I was looking for gas in the other cars… I tried to help, but it was too late—”

Sendak snorted. “That Keith, I swear. Continue.”

Once finished, the man— whatever the fuck his name was— asked, “Sir, do we go after them?”

“No,” Sendak said, “Keith and I have a deal.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again i update like months later snljdkkg i've been super busy with school and work, i'm sorry. thank y'all for ur patience, i hope you like this chapter. I've been thinking of this story in terms of arcs/parts or w/e, and this chapter is going to be end of part 1! im v excited to delve deeper into the world building and some the upcoming reveals and the like. thank y'all again for all the support you've given this fic and the lovely comments you leave always make my day, thank you!!! <3
> 
> tw: gore, violence, and talk/mention of sexual assault

Lance ran as if there was no tomorrow— which, like, if he didn’t run, he was pretty sure there wouldn’t be.  His heart beat so fast, it felt almost like it might burst through his chest—you know, like some Looney Toons sort of shit. He and Keith ran for so long that he’d lost track of time, both of them desperate to shake the group of zombies on their tail.

“Keith! We gotta get to a tree! We can climb up and wait for them to wander off!” Lance said.

Keith didn’t reply, didn’t even spare Lance a single glance. He just ran.

In all honesty, Lance still couldn’t believe they’d escaped. It was crazy. It was so easy. _Too easy_ , if he gave it some thought. He didn’t like it. He half expected something to go wrong. Lance really didn’t know what to make of it. He should be happy they escaped. And don't get him wrong— he definitely was.

Maybe, he just needed to look on the bright side.

Maybe, their luck was starting to change. Maybe, so many bad things had happened, that the universe was starting to balance them out with good things. So, for now, there would only be good things.

Yeah, that’d be nice.

It was a nice thought, to think that from here on out, things would be better. They just had to escape the zombies and they’d be fine. Things would look up. They wouldn’t have to live in fear of Sendak and his men. They were free. 

Call him Mr. Brightside, Lance had a feeling they’d be doing just fine— if not now, then eventually.

 

* * *

 

It took hours, but eventually, the group of zombies thinned out. The group had gotten small enough that Keith and Lance could start dispatching them. It grew dark, the sun began its descent, and Lance knew they had to get up in the trees, but right now he needed to focus.

A swing of his bat, a crack, and the zombie fell. Lance followed up, used the bat until the zombie moved no more, and tried to wipe the blood and sweat that lingered on his brow. Between Keith and himself was little more than deafening silence, Lance broke it.

“You good to climb?” Lance whispered.

Keith said nothing. The only indication he gave that he’d even heard Lance was a little nod.

“How do you want to do this? We need our weapons, but also like two hands to climb?”

“I don’t need two,” Keith said, his voice almost inaudible.

“Keith—”

 Lance got ignored again. This time he decided to take action. He went to take the axe from Keith’s hand, because it didn’t matter what Keith thought he could do— he clearly wasn’t okay, and Lance didn’t want to think about Keith accidentally cutting himself with the axe or dropping it on Lance from above.

_Smack._

Keith slapped his hand away. His eyes were wide, violet with blue flecks he could only see from this close up. Keith’s chest rose and fell urgently, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched, lips a pale, thin line.

His voice strained as he spoke, “Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Hey, man. It’s just me. I’m just—”

“Don’t,” Keith said, a little louder this time.

Lance moved his hands away and up. “Okay, no touching. Got it.”

“Don’t touch me again,” Keith said. A moment passed, then he added a, “ _Please.”_

It sounded so desperate, so hurt, and raw. It made Lance’s heart clench from where it sat in his chest. “Okay. I promise I won’t,” He said, his voice soft.

Keith averted his eyes before he held his axe out to Lance. “Hand it to me after I’ve climbed up a couple of branches.”

“Can do,” Lance said.

In the end, after much maneuvering and the like, Lance and Keith were capable of hiding up in the tree. The tree was huge, it had branches that were at a decent enough height and thick enough to comfortably hold their weight. They were just figuring out how they might secure their weapons when Lance’s bat rolled off of the branch. It had happened as soon as his fingers brushed it.

“Fuck!” Lance said.

Keith snorted.

“Come on, dude. Don’t laugh, I’m heartbroken.”

“Okay, but you have to admit that was kind of funny. Like only we would have that kind of luck,” Keith said.

It was kind of true. More than anything, Lance was glad that Keith had been amused by it. It was better than how quiet he’d been. Withdrawn, but also like a rubber band pulled taut— ready to snap.

“Yeah, it kind of was.”

Silence fell over them once more. After a few minutes, Lance had to break it. “You okay, man?” He asked.

Keith met his gaze with suspicion in his eyes. He paused before he finally spoke, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I’m fine.” Keith turned away. “Go to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

Lance frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Go to sleep, Lance.” Keith’s tone was final.

Lance complied.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, they made their way down the tree. Dawn’s weak light filtered through the trees, the sky painted in a pale blue. Keith said nothing. They walked in silence. The sun rose higher in the sky, it seemed to be closer to noon when Lance finally broke the silence. They’d stopped for a moment— just to catch their breath.

“You okay, buddy?” Lance asked.

Keith didn’t answer. His eyes were cast downward, his dark lashes cast shadows against his cheeks.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

Keith stayed quiet.

“That… That wasn’t the first time something like that happened to you, was it?” Lance regretted the words, but he had to know. Not if Keith was… he didn’t want to even think it. An ugly word that brought forth images that made his stomach queasy. He didn’t need to know _that_. Maybe he should’ve phrased it better— but, he couldn’t…

Lance just had to know that Keith was okay. 

If he was being honest, Lance preferred the previous silence to what followed next.

Keith, for lack of a better word, exploded.

“That’s none of your business,” Keith said. The words were hissed from between clenched teeth, his voice shook with the pure rage that overtook him.

Lance flinched. “I didn’t—”

“How fucking dare you ask me that? Who the fuck do you think you are? I don’t know if you got the memo, but we’re _not_ friends. You don’t get to unlock my trauma after you reach Friendship Level 12 or whatever stupid ass fucking shit you say, but you don’t get to ask! You—”

“Keith, I—”

“Fuck you for asking!”

“I didn’t mean—”

Keith didn’t stop.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Don’t think I forgot when you tried to kiss me— is that what you want? Me to get all weepy, tell you how I was _raped,_ and just fall into your arms, let you use me like all those other fucking monsters did—”

“Hey!” Lance couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but snap, yell. Fuck. He was so angry, and he knew Keith was, too. The air between them was like that of a rising tide, the tension was thick, but the line they walked was thin. Lance should’ve said sorry for asking, should’ve said a lot of things. Instead, he said,  “You think I’m like that? Like, I’m just some pig, some gross dude like the guys back there? That all I want is to fuck you?”

Keith flinched.

Later, Lance would feel bad. But, now he kept talking. His mouth worked, he kept talking even as he felt like he should just shut up. “I don’t! I just asked because— ugh, you’re right it’s not my place, I just—!”

“You would never understand,” Keith said, his voice quiet and his shoulder tense.

And he was right, Lance probably never would. He could sympathize and empathize and all those ‘thizes’ and shit, but he wouldn’t know what it was that Keith went through, what it did to him.

“I was just…. I phrased it pretty bad, I think. I just wanted to know if you’re okay,” Lance said.

“I’m not,” Keith replied. A heartbeat pasted, and maybe Keith wanted to get past this— “Let’s go. We probably just got the attention of a shit ton of biters.”

Lance didn’t argue. Keith started to jog ahead, and Lance followed. The sun shone weakly beyond pale clouds, a promise of warmth not kept by the chilly air below.  A part of Lance wondered if it would always be like this. Fighting, chasing after Keith. They’d been apart for so long and Lance ruined it.

Lance almost caught up to Keith, the chilly air between them. But, Keith was faster and pulled up ahead.

“We need supplies,” Lance said. “And a new car.” 

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice so quiet, Lance almost lost his words to the wind.

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later found them out of the woods and with a little food. They’d found a purse in an abandoned car and were using it for holding their food as of now. A backpack would have been preferable, not because either of them had anything against using a purse, but in the long run they needed something bigger to hold any supplies they acquired.

They hadn’t seen a single sign of Sendak’s men, luckily. Keith still acted a little jumpy, but it seemed things between them were beginning to smooth over. It started with an apology. 

“I’m sorry I got snappy with you,” Keith said.

“No, man. It was my fault. I was being nosy and shit. I didn’t have any right to ask you that stuff. I’m sorry.”

Keith got quiet. “It’s fine. I just… I can’t talk about that stuff. Not yet. Maybe never.”

“That’s cool. I don’t have a right to know, but like…. if you talked to me about it one day, I just would, um… I don’t know how to say this? Like I would appreciate you trusting me enough to talk to me about stuff like that, but it’s definitely not something you have to share.” Lance felt his cheeks flush as he rambled on and on.

“I do trust you. This is hard to talk about, but… I trust you,” Keith said.

“Friends?” Lance held his hand out.

Keith took his hand, firm, and gave it a little squeeze. “Friends.”

 

* * *

 

“We’ve got to find somewhere to hole up tonight.”

“Definitely,” Lance agreed.

“As cold as it’s been those clouds look like sleet— maybe even snow. If we’re lucky enough to get a lot of it, and that’ll mean slower biters. I went pretty far up north and they froze over. I don’t know if that’ll happen here, but we can hope.”

Lance nodded, the wind picked up, and he shivered. His jacket wasn’t thick enough for cold like this.

Keith frowned. “I wish there were some deer around. We could have dinner. Maybe I could even figure out how to make a blanket or something. Can’t be so hard, right?”

“I guess. Like, that would be great, but I don’t think there’s anything big enough for a decent dinner, let alone for blankets and shit. I just want dinner and somewhere to sleep.”

“You don’t look so good,” Keith said. His hand moved, and he rested it against Lance’s forehead, pressed the back of his hand there, too. Keith’s frown deepened. “You’re warm.”

“But, I’m freezing,” Lance protested.

Keith unzipped his jacket.

“What are you doing?”

“You need it more than me,” Keith said. He didn’t take no for an answer, ignored Lance’s protests, more or less slipped the leather jacket on Lance.

“Better?”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance said. His cheeks were warm. The jacket was shorter on him than it was Keith, but not as snug.

“Good,” Keith said. There was a little smile at his lips. “Very fashionable, leather looks good on you.”

“Strike a pose!” Lance sang, “Vogue, vogue, vogue.”

Keith snorted, rolled his eyes. “Come on, Madonna. Let’s go.” Lance noticed there was a fond look in his eyes as he spoke.

They’d found shelter in an old gas station. Cleared it of the dead, of which there were only two. They blocked up the entrance and exit to the best of their ability, huddled up behind the counter. They would’ve slept in the office, but it was locked.

Ordinarily, they might have chanced opening it up but Lance was feeling weaker and weaker as the day went on.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a fever, hopefully it’s not the flu,” Keith said.

Lance shivered. “I don’t know, dude.” Simultaneously, it felt like being cold and hot. He shivered, but he was covered in a sheen of sweat.

Keith moved closer to him.

“You’re gonna get sick, too,” Lance said.

“I’m not going to let you freeze.” Keith wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulled him close against his side. Quieter, softer, he added, “You’d do the same for me.”

That night, Lance was plagued by fever dreams— some he couldn’t remember, some he wished he could forget. Images split, ugly, jagged, and without meaning, terrorized his subconscious.

Dreams where he couldn’t run, couldn’t scream as teeth sunk into his flesh, dreams where he could only watch as Keith was pushed down, and numerous hands _took_ from him, dreams where Lance watched as his teeth fell from his mouth, like pennies dropping into his open palms, dreams where he was haunted by those he had killed, hearing their howls of rage from their lives being stolen from them.

Dreams where he laid strapped to a table, a blinding light above him, gloved hands and scrubs appeared before him, the glint of surgical tools, and being unable to scream as he was cut open.

He awoke to groaning, jolted from his sleepy state, and saw the door rattle. Everything was hazy and hot, but he could see Keith’s breath in the air as he struggled to push an empty bookshelf against the door.

Lance shakily tried to get to his feet, to help—

He fell on the way there.

Keith went to him, helped him up, but it was at a cost. The bookshelf fell, the door opened, and revealed the faces of the dead, their snarls loud and eyes shining with excitement at the prospect of their next meal.

“Lance, we—”

Keith’s voice was lost to the sound.

“—out the back, okay?”

Lance nodded dumbly, his ears whooshed with blood, body wracked by coughing and feeling as if he were aflame. He tried to help Keith, but really he more or less was holding Lance up. Lance’s legs were more akin to a newborn deer’s, and his breath labored from both his sickness and fear.

They made it out the back, closing the backdoor just as the front gave, signaled by a loud creak and the shuffle of the dead. Keith more or less dragged Lance away, back into the woods, careful not to attract the attention of the biters in the surrounding area.

Lance still felt as if he were back home with how much he was sweating, but all around him the world was painted in white, the snow crunching beneath his shoes.

They walked for hours, likely. The morning light giving way to afternoon, their footfalls the only sound within the forest. It was getting harder for Lance to walk, but he didn’t want to burden Keith more than he had by asking to stop.

“I’m so thirsty,” Lance said, an hour later.

Keith looked to him, eyebrows furrowed, eyes sad. “I’m sorry, I lost most of the stuff in the bag. I could only really grab our weapons. We can get some snow, though— you can eat it.”

Lance nodded. Keith stopped, glanced around and crouched down. He left Lance against a tree, took a few steps and crouched down again, to collect snow.

Lance’s mouth felt cold, numb, but it was worth it to his aching throat. Keith suggested taking a rest, but Lance shook his head. It wasn’t safe yet.

They walked on and on. A road soon appeared through the thicket of the trees. The coast was clear, so Keith went to it. They walked on. Hours passed. Again, Keith suggested a break. Lance declined.

 In the distance, they could see something blocking the road, it looked as if it were once an opening to a town. As they grew closer, a sign could be seen.

 _ALTEA: SANCTUARY FOR ALL,_ it read in bold black letters.

Lance smiled, so relieved he might have collapsed then and there.

 A few steps later, he did.

 

* * *

 

Panic consumed Keith’s being. Lance just _dropped._ Keith had only managed to keep him from slamming his head on the road below. He slipped his hoodie off, shivered from being left in only a t-shirt in the cold, but went about getting it on Lance.

“Wake up, please,” Keith said. His voice shook as he whispered, “Lance! Please! Lance, you’ve got to wake up!”

Lance’s eyes flickered and his head lolled but he did not wake, his breathing was raspy.

 _All your fault,_ an ugly little voice in Keith’s head whispered. More voices joined, _He’s dead. He’s turned. He’s gone. It’s all your fault._

“Shut up!” Keith screamed.

_Just like Shiro. You killed Lance, too. He’s going to die if he’s not already dead. It’s all your fault._

Tears fell down Keith’s cheeks, a sob left his lips, and he clutched Lance tight. He couldn’t carry him. The gates were so close, yet so far. They were literally at them, but they were shut, Keith called for help, but no response.

So close to sanctuary.

A peculiar sound reached his ears, then. Pulled up from the despair he’d sunk in, he heard the fall of hooves upon the road, and looked up to see a horse and rider in his path.

As the figures grew closer, they pulled to a halt before Keith and Lance. The horse was large, with a coat consisting of large brown and white spots, and on it sat a woman. Her blue eyes narrowed as she stared down Keith, hair as white as the snow all around them, dressed warmly in dark blue and white, her skin a warm brown, and her cheeks marked with pale scars.

Before Keith’s fingers even brushed the handle of his knife, a gun was pointed at him. 

The woman’s eyes were cold as the snow around them as she spoke— loud, clear, and with an accent he might’ve found lovely under other circumstances, “I am Allura of Altea. State your name, group affiliation, and your business here.” 

“I’m…. I’m Keith. It’s just me and him— no group. He’s sick, not bitten. Look, I don’t care about what happens to me, just help him please.” Luckily, Keith’s voice didn’t tremble, but still he was unnerved. Unsure of what this outcome might yield, but afraid of the alternative. Lance’s breathing was getting shallower.

Allura looked to Lance and Keith, no doubt evaluating whether or not they were a threat. Suddenly, she gave a high whistle that consisted of two notes. The air was tense as Keith’s mind ran amok with the possibilities of what that whistle might bring. How they might be gunned down, shot full of arrows, maybe she’d bring the dead down on them, or—

The gate opened.

 

 

**_End of Part One._ **

 


End file.
